


All the Madness in the World

by aybeexinfinity



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Smut, reference to rape/assault but canon-typical (not graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:53:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 126,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aybeexinfinity/pseuds/aybeexinfinity
Summary: Everyone has skeletons in the closet. You'd think that being in law enforcement helps you defeat them.Well, it doesn't.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Switch

_"The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you will see." - Winston Churchill_

* * *

  
The last cardboard box toppled into the garbage bin, the label that before read Living Room blocked by other things. Now it just said Liv. Everything was now successfully moved in and unpacked, but in spite of this it still didn’t feel like home. My father’s grave and my mother’s much newer one were separated by almost half the country. But I wasn’t entirely alone here, and that was a source of comfort for me. Spencer was waiting at a restaurant fifteen minutes away, completely unaware of anything. I pulled out my phone and dialled a familiar number.  
  
“You know, I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”  
  
“Please, you are so the forgettable type.” I teased, a smile creeping onto my face as he laughed. The car doors unlocked at my command and I clambered in, struggling to hold the phone and put on my seatbelt.  
  
“How you been, T-Bird?”  
  
“I’m surviving.” I pressed the phone between my shoulder and ear, re-reading the directions I’d gotten to the restaurant before easing out of my assigned parking spot. “I’m in town, you’re not on vacation or anything are you?”  
  
“Vacation, that’s a distant dream, girl.”  
  
“Well good, because I’m coming to visit on Tuesday. I’ve got a surprise for you!”  
  
“Mmm, lace or leather?”  
  
“Derek Morgan, you never change.”  
  
“See ya Tuesday, Tasha.”  
  
Three days was all I had to familiarize myself with the area, but I was faring decently. I just wanted to get there and see Spence and tell him the good news. I wouldn’t have to worry about him all the time because I’d see him every day. Uprooting my life for the second time was a small price to pay for (relative) peace of mind.  
  


* * *

  
Spencer took a seat at his desk, heaving his bag off and setting it on the floor as he pointed out the chief’s office. He immediately took out the crossword from the morning’s paper and started filling it out effortlessly. I left him to his puzzle as I took determined steps up the stairs to where I’d been directed. On the door sat a golden plate, adorned in capital letters with the name AARON HOTCHNER in glossy black. Raising my hand, I knocked twice and turned the handle upon being summoned inside. I tentatively peered into the room, taking in the sight of the man I’d seen briefly a few times before. He looked the same, for the most part—over worked and tired—but there was a notable change, which I assumed was attributed to the trauma surrounding the loss of his wife. He looked up and I offered a smile, walking forward and holding out my hand.  
  
“Hi, I’m Natasha Reid—I believe you’re my new boss?” He stood, pressing a hand to flatten the front of his blazer as his other reached out to meet mine.  
  
“Of course, it’s great to have you here.” He looked down at his paperwork once, then to the clock, and finally settled on moving around the desk and towards the door. “I’ll give you the tour.”  
  
“Oh, that’s alright, Spence can show me around. You look pretty busy.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
“Yes sir.” He nodded once and went back around his desk, motioning for me to sit as he did.  
“Is Morgan here yet?”  
  
“I don’t think so, but he should be here soon—you two know each other, I believe?”  
  
“Yeah, I worked with him for two years on the force in Chicago. I haven’t told him about my newest job, yet.”  
  
“Well I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it.” He went on to inform me that the team met in conference room 4 every day at 10 am for a case briefing, but our introductions were cut short by an incoming phone call. He apologized and I assured him Spencer could fill me in. “Welcome to the team.”  
  
I nodded a thanks as he picked up the received and I slipped out of the office. Spencer greeted me with a smile and pointed out my desk for me: beside him, across from Morgan and diagonal from one of the other agents, Emily Prentiss. It’d been a year and a half since I’d last been in the building; I was in town on a police conference and had some spare time to visit Spencer. I listed off the names I remembered, Spencer assuring me I hadn’t forgotten anyone.  
  
The sun was beginning to peek through the windows as the clocks struck 8:30, a steady flow of people beginning to file onto the floor. I heard Morgan long before I saw him, his booming voice and laugh echoing through the place matched with a female’s voice. They were arguing about something—whatever it was, Derek found it wholly amusing. Spencer looked up from his almost-completed crossword and mimicked my attempt to contain a smile. I turned in my chair and watched as he came closer, oblivious to me as he tried to win the battle with the girl—Emily, I believed—by sheer volume of voice.  
  
“Give it up, Morgan, she’s probably right.” I called out, the smile breaking onto my face as he noticed me. He unleashed a grin of his own, quickening his pace and opening his arms.  
  
“If it isn’t my T-Bird.” He mused as he pulled me into an embrace. “Look at you, all grown up and leaving the nest.”  
  
“Shut up, Morgan.” I teased, punching him in the arm. He laughed, turning to Emily and introducing us.  
  
“Prentiss, this is a good friend of mine Natasha Reid.” I held out my hand and she shook it, that undeniable look crossing her face as she processed my name.  
  
“Another Reid?” She questioned, eyes widening slightly.  
  
“Don’t worry, I missed out on the Genius gene.”  
  
“Hey, someone needed to get the looks in the family.”  
  
“I’m right here, Morgan.” Spencer called out, frowning.  
  
“Don’t worry, Spence, it’s pretty clear Derek here missed out on both brains and beauty.” I promised as Emily laughed.  
  
“I didn’t know you had a sister, Reid.” Emily stated, giving him a disapproving look.  
  
“That’s because I don’t; we’re cousins.” He said absently, filling in the second last word of the puzzle. Emily took her seat as Morgan did the same. I sat down at my empty desk.  
  
“You might need to get up soon, Hotch said we’re getting someone new on the team and that’s their desk.” Derek said, peeling off his jacket and slinging it over the back of his chair.  
  
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” I smirked as he cocked an eyebrow at me. “Remember how I told you I had news? Well…say hello to the newest transfer.”  
  
“You serious?” He asked after a moment. I nodded and he let out a laugh, looking to Spencer and shaking his head. “You knew all about this, didn’t you kid?”  
  
“Actually I only found out on Sunday.” He explained, setting down his crossword with a satisfied smile. “She moved in before even letting me know she was in town.”  
  
“I wanted it to be a surprise, Spence!” I said in my defence.  
  
“Morning, Garcia.” Derek called out to the girl I remembered as the tech-analyst.  
  
“I’ll show _you_ a good morning.” She teased, but paused when she caught sight of me.  
“Natasha!”  
  
“Hi Penelope.” I smiled as she hugged me. In all honesty I was surprised she remembered me at all, I’d only seen her briefly a few times. She remarked that she wasn’t told I was in town, to which Derek kindly informed her it’d be a while before I was leaving town again. She promptly hugged me again and went on about how she wanted to throw a welcome party—but I quickly assured her that parties weren’t really my thing.  
  
“Natasha Reid?” I turned to the source of the voice: a blonde girl with a determined walk. Jennifer Jareau. She smiled, holding out her hand for me to shake. “Welcome to the team. I’ll show you around.”  
  
She walked me up to conference room 4, explaining that although there were daily meetings more often than not a case came up more urgently. Spencer had told me all about things like this—in fact everything she was telling me had already been covered by him, but I let her go over it again. She went into more detail about her job as the media liaison and what Penelope could do for me as the tech analyst. While explaining this she showed me the way to Penelope’s office as well as the kitchen and the washrooms. Everything I needed to know.  
  
“And here’re your keys.” Into my hands she dropped a set of car keys which, as she relayed, corresponded to a company issued SUV in the parking lot. Everyone in the team had access to one—just as we all apparently were privy to a personal jet to use across country.  
  
“Well that’s a change from Chicago.” I joked, twirling the keys around my finger once before sliding them into my pocket.  
  
“I really hope you like it here. It’s…It’s a taxing job, but it’s really rewarding. If you ever need anything, you can find me in my office.”  
  
“Thanks, Jennifer.”  
  
“Call me JJ.” She smiled, placing her hand on my arm before leaving me with the others and shuffling off again to her office. By now the last member of the team, agent Rossi, had come in. He was waiting by my desk with the others and turned to me when I approached. He held out his hand, welcomed me, and made a remark about hearing good things from my chief in Chicago.  
  
“Good to know I’ve been thoroughly researched.” I joked, taking my new seat and spinning around a few times.  
  
“Uh-uh, you haven’t been snooped until Garcia works her magic on every paper trail you’ve ever made.” Derek teased, sitting back in his chair with his interlocked fingers behind his head. I resisted the urge to exchange a look with Spencer—there were some things in my past that I did not want to be found. I made a note to myself to have a word with Penelope and politely beg her to steer clear of any sealed files she may find regarding me.  
  
It was Emily who suggested that we should all go out for an informal dinner at a local bar, a sort of welcome-thing that would be completely low-key. It was a gesture of kindness that I hadn’t expected in the least, but I figured that out of anyone Emily knew the best what it was like to come into the pre-established family of the team. I had a slight advantage with Spencer and Derek, but other than that we were in the same boat. We planned a tentative date and I thanked her, the initial jitters of the day subsiding. The new shoes being broken in.  
  
Although I was ready for the job, it still caught me a little off guard when JJ called us all into the conference room an hour later with a case. I was a aware that, as the newest member, this case would be my debut of sorts. My thoughts, contributions, and decisions would be analyzed in order to determine my value and my worth. Whether or not I measured up to Spencer would probably be considered too, even if no one would admit it. It never bothered me that I wasn’t as smart as Spencer, not in the slightest. I was probably his biggest supporter, next to his mom.  
  
We all filed into the conference room and I took a seat between Emily and Spencer. Penelope came in and handed a tablet to everyone except Spencer and me, sticking to the paper copies for us. She made a comment about guessing that the two of us shared a dislike for unnecessary technology. It started things off on a light note, because she was absolutely right. The mutual aversion Spence and I had for moving forward into the 21st century was one that subjected us to side glances and covered snickers. Not that it bothered either of us.  
  
“Hampton Virginia.” JJ began, pacing to the front of the room and switching on the screen, bringing up the crime scene photos. Four bodies were laid out in a row, a mass grave of sorts. Almost the entire family. “The father is serving overseas. This murder is identical to one that happened a few years ago, our presence has been requested.”  
  
The scene reminded me of something I’d seen before, but it took a moment for my brain to dredge up the information. The Fox—that was the name the media gave to the killer I was remembering. But this couldn’t be him, he was still locked away in prison. I’d studied him, along with many others, during my time on the force. He was a favourite of many of the lecturers on profiling that I’d gone to listen to.  
  
JJ gave the rest of the briefing and we received our orders. We had 30 minutes to meet in the parking lot, where we’d group up and start the journey to Hampton. Derek herded me into his car, Emily and Spencer joining us. Penelope had uploaded the directions to the GPS device in the car, so Derek followed after the car with Hotchner, Rossi, and JJ. I made small talk with Emily, but I was gearing up for the task ahead of me. I didn’t want to mess anything up.  
  
Not on the first day.


	2. Outfoxed

_"Man usually avoids attributing cleverness to somebody else unless it's an enemy." - Albert Einstein_

* * *

“Last year the Williams family was killed in the exact same way, they lived in Newport News.” Rossi announced as we stood in front of the taped off graves that the unsub had dug in the backyard. The field agent with us, Ann Hudson, had given the go-ahead for Spencer and me to walk through the house and get an idea of what we were dealing with. It was the ideal family home, complete with pictures on the fridge and sugary breakfast cereal. The shell casings and blood smears, however, were out of place.  
  
“The father Dan Williams was serving overseas, just like this one.” Derek added. Hudson explained how the police were getting some serious heat from the military to get this solved quickly, the pressure mounting as JJ informed us all that the media was already calling this the work of a serial killer. A jet roared overhead, drawing all of our attention upwards.  
  
“It’s about to get a lot louder around here.” Hudson said. “Tomorrow is Langley’s 50th anniversary airshow.”  
  
“Whoever’s doing this has to know that the husbands are overseas.” Derek said, eyes glued to the graves as Hotchner and Rossi headed inside to survey the rest of the scene.  
  
“Laura Downey’s wedding rings are missing, any other valuables?” Prentiss asked.  
  
“I’ll have to ask the husband.” Hudson replied. “From the Williams’ house only jewellery and watches were taken.”  
  
“The unsub’s only taking what he can carry,” I offered. “Which means he’s most likely on foot.”  
  
Rossi mentioned that there had been a photo in the living room, one that had been shot, and that he wanted to see it. Hotchner then pointed out that there were no signs of sexual assault, not even on the only drowned victim, Lucy. There was also the fact that in the Williams’ family the little girl had been suffocated instead of shot. So far we had it narrowed down to one unsub instead of a gang. Penelope called and JJ put her on speakerphone. She explained that an inmate in one of the local prisons had received two letters in the past two days, both containing newspaper clippings of the different murders and a note claiming responsibility for the crimes.  
  
“Who’s the inmate?” JJ asked wearily.  
  
“That’s the part…It’s, um, Carl Arnold.”  
  
“The Fox?” I looked from the phone to Spencer for confirmation that this was indeed the man he’d aided in apprehending a few years back. The Fox, the family annihilator and frequent favourite of behavioural analysis seminars that I’d attended back on the force. Hotchner started to list the similarities between the case and explained the general persona of the Fox to Hudson.  
  
“So, we’re working with a copycat here?” Hudson asked.  
  
“It’s too early to assume anything.” Hotchner said.  
  
“It could bias the profile.” Spencer added. “Not to mention the police, the media, and the military would jump all over it.”  
  
“Until we’re positive, none of this information leaves the eight of us.” Derek said. “Hotch, you gave evidence at Arnold’s trial, maybe you should go see him?”  
  
“I think that’s best. Prentiss, Reid, I’d like you to come with me.”  
  
“Which Reid?” Spencer asked before he could continue.  
  
“Natasha.”  
  
“You know,” I began. “Maybe it’ll be easier if you guys just call me by my first name?”  
  
There was a general consensus before the rest of the orders came flying out. The rest of the team was to go back to the station with Hudson where the father and husband of the latest victims had just arrived. We parted ways as I followed after Prentiss and Hotchner. When we got to the prison I brought up something that had been puzzling me.  
  
“So why wait a year to send Carl a note—unless they were communicating the whole time?”  
“That’s the first thing we need to find out.” Hotchner said. “But Carl has a big ego, he’ll want to answer every question with a question. He’ll start with asking me why I’m not wearing my wedding ring, then he’ll turn his attention to you, Natasha.”  
  
“Knew I was here for a good reason.”  
  
“Your presence will throw him off, and he’s going to want to explain to you in detail every sexual act he did to the families in order to pull you into his fantasy. Prentiss I need you in the surveillance room watching his every move in case we miss anything that could give us the upper hand.”  
  
As we walked through the wing holding some of the worst criminals this state had seen, I was working at draining myself of all emotions. I wanted to be as unaffected and blank as a robot until I needed to be something else. I tried not to think about the body count all these men combined would have, and how sometimes even though justice was served by legal terms it didn’t feel so good knowing these people were still alive.  
  
Knowing they were still out there.  
  
This was where Emily left us, following one of the other guards to wherever the surveillance room was in the facility. I could see Arnold from where I stood, sitting in a plain blue jumpsuit on the opposite side of a table, a smug smile as full as the beard on his face. At the last moment I turned, facing Hotchner so that he couldn’t see me as I worked open the top two buttons of my shirt. I was here as a weapon, so I wanted to make myself as effective as possible.  
  
“Just pretend you’re saying something important.”  
  
“He’s probably going to want to see pictures of the children.” He said, eyes trained on Arnold.  
  
“Are we actually going to give him them?” I tugged the bottom of my shirt down so that, at the right angle, you could see inside.  
  
“We have to give him something.” With a nod that I was ready the guard paged for the door to be open and we walked inside. Arnold stood, looking only at Hotchner while he spoke.  
  
“Agent Hotchner. I wasn’t informed you were bringing a…” He turned to me for a brief moment. “They just said two agents.”  
  
“This is agent Natasha Reid.” Hotchner said, lying his briefcase on the table and opening it. He began to lay out a series of envelopes, letters, and newspaper clippings for Arnold to see as I took a seat. When he was content with everything he sat down and folded his hands on the table. “Carl, it seems you have a fan.”  
  
“Admirer.” He corrected. “Not a fan. Big difference, right?”  
  
“Is this the first time you’ve been contacted by your admirer?” I asked. He turned, looked at me the same way he had before, and snorted almost before turning back to Hotchner.  
  
“I have many fans. Even my own website.” He took a breath before focusing on me. “You’d be astounded at some of the questions they ask. I make a log of all of them, would you like to see them?”  
  
“I would love to.”  
  
“You would love to? Yes. Here, look.” He pointed his finger to a book before him on the table. Without hesitating I stood up and reached for it. He immediately leaned forward and took in a deep breath, Hotchner moving quickly to take the book and hand it to me himself, allowing me to sit down.  
  
“Maybe later.” I said stiffly. “Your admirer is taking wedding rings, just like you.”  
  
“But maybe not for the same reason.” Hotchner said.  
  
“Like how you took all of mine. But I see you’ve lost yours.”  
  
“Eight rings, four families. Or was it one ring for each family?”  
  
“How’d you come to lose your ring?” He pushed. My stomach was churning. Spencer had called me the day that Hotchner’s wife had been killed. He’d told me everything, and for a man like Arnold to be toying with that knowledge…it was evident how good at his job Hotchner was for not breaking an inch. “Wait, don’t tell me—a ‘casualty of the job’.”  
“My job is what put you in here.”  
  
“True. But it’s the children who suffer most, wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
“You’d know more about that than me.”  
  
“Which is why you came to me. I can help you with that, agent Hotchner. I certainly can. But I’ll need to see those photos. May I?”  
  
The thought of using pictures of a dead little girl as a bargaining chip made me feel horrible, but I knew that he couldn’t hurt her and that what we learned from him might be the difference between another family’s life and death. Hotchner would probably leave the room at some point, leave me alone with this sadistic serial killer. I had to get him talking, to find out what it was for him that made the children different. I had to build a rapport. With a nod from Hotchner I got to my feet, laying out the pictures as he retold the story of the Downey family, piece by bloody piece.  
  
“What I don’t understand is why he didn’t separate the children. That way you’d have more control, less room for error.” Arnold said, a sick smile plastered on his face as he left oily fingerprints on the glossy surfaces of the photographs. “The girl, she was drowned? And yet the others were shot. May I see her?”  
  
“What’s so special about the girl?” I questioned, pulling the case files out of his reach. He huffed, sitting back in his chair and almost glaring at me.  
  
“To suffocate, to feel the life leave her body means everything to the man who did this.”  
  
“To you maybe, but not to this killer. Not in the same way.”  
  
“All I did was show them how weak fathers could be, that’s all.” Before Hotchner could respond both of our pagers went off, but I didn’t want to have my fears confirmed—they’d found another family. It might as well have been, though, because Hotchner excused himself. I tried to stay focused, knowing that the time had come to play my part. “He’s killed again, hasn’t he? Luckily for me.”  
  
“Luckily?” I asked. He smirked at me, shrugging his shoulders.  
  
“Now we’re alone.” He tilted his head to the side as I tucked my hair behind my ear, giving what I hoped would come off as a nervous laugh.  
  
“You stated that the families don’t know the killer—why?”  
  
“Now we wait, right? You and I? See if my _admirer_ contacts me? He will.” I figured that he wasn’t going to give me much else if I continued on like this. So I switched up tactics, shifting in my seat and folding my arms under my chest.  
  
“You know, yours was one of the first cases I studied.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Mhm. I’ve been, well…” I threw a glance behind me as if checking for others before shrugging my shoulder. “Fascinated ever since.”  
  
“With what?”  
  
“You.” I batted my eyelashes just once before averting my gaze. I could feel his eyes burning on me, the fluids in my stomach threatening to force their way up. He smirked once more, leaning forward.  
  
“And now you want to know what I did to the children?”  
  
“Yes.” I said quietly. “Tell me.”  
  
“Children are so precious. So clean. They need guidance, especially the girls. Girls have much more to lose than boys. It’s a fact a female body can handle pain much better.”  
There were things I could remember, images and smells, the sight of trees outside a small window and the coolness of metal and the taste of spring in the air. Things I did not wish to remember. Things I could not presently afford to recall. I needed to be a robot. I needed to forget how to feel.  
  
“What did you do?”  
  
“I showed them what men, their fathers and brothers, are capable of.”  
  
“And what is that?”  
  
“Are you sure you want to know?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Once I killed the children, it always amazed me how little the father fought dying.” He continued on like this, explaining to me in excruciating detail what he did to each and every family member. The words wore stored in some part of my brain but I did my best to stick to the script and be the pretty female used to coerce him. At the end of his spiel Hotchner came back in.  
  
“I’m surprised you were so honest, Carl.”  
  
“Well, it takes a good woman.” He winked at me as I moved my hair to one side. “And let’s face it. She’s prettier than you.”  
  
“Do you know _why_ you killed all those families?” I asked.  
  
“I already told you why.” He gave a small roll of his eyes and sat back in his chair.  
  
“No you told me how, not why. And the reasons why in this case are very different than they were for you.”  
  
“And as you have so eloquently been pointing out to Agent Reid, all of your motivations were for sex.” Hotchner added, standing with his arms crossed.  
  
“Motivations you learned from your father.” I pointed out. His head snapped to face me and he took a deep breath before leaning forward. His eyes traveled up and down me before he smiled.  
  
“You really have done your research on me, Natasha. I’m flattered.” He then turned to Hotchner. “It must be distracting, working with someone so beautiful.  
  
“You’re also filled with feelings of extreme self-hatred. You forced those men to watch their children die and here’s why you are what you are.” The anger was coming out faster than I could control it. Like a trying to build a damn against an already overflowing river.  
  
“Oh, the things I would do to you.”  
  
“By killing the fathers last you were killing your own father and ultimately yourself, over and over again.” He was staring at me with this fury that he kept so much better controlled than my own, but I still knew I was right. It was only as I thought about what I’d said that something clicked and I turned to Hotchner. “Wait…For Carl, it was all about the fathers. But for this unsub, it’s all about the girls. They die last, they’re laid out last, none of them are shot—they’re laid out last, none of them are shot.”  
  
“It’s something we hadn’t considered.”  
  
“Why would we? It’s so rare.”  
  
“What is?” Arnold asked, stroking his beard.  
  
“The killer’s a woman.” Hotchner replied.  
  
Nodding, I got to my feet and announced I would call Derek to let him know. I pulled out my phone when I met up with Emily, taking a seat beside her. Derek filled me in on everything they’d found out since—how the airshow was probably a trigger for some psychotic break, and how the way the bodies were laid out resembled mass graves. That combined with the knowledge that we had a female killer who’d probably grown up in conflict somewhere in the world greatly narrowed our search. I knew that Spencer would be busy but this feeling I was left with made me anxious to hear his voice. This was what usually happened: I would call Spencer and make sure he was okay when I doubted whether or not I was. Emily gave me a smile as I flipped my phone over and over in my hand.  
  
“You did good.”  
  
“I _flirted_ with him.” I said, momentarily convulsing in disgust. It was so much easier to pretend that he was just in prison for something simple like theft or breaking and entering. Hotchner came in and told me I’d done a good job and helped the case, but it didn’t change how I felt. I resorted to flipping open my phone and calling Spence.  
  
“Tash, we think we’ve got a potential.” He said quickly. It took me by surprise but I rushed to put him on speakerphone. “Her name’s Miranda Drakar, she was orphaned in Sarajevo, Bosnia in 1982 and adopted by a family in Srebrenica. She does outsourced work for a website called Photobug, it’s a place where users can upload things like videos and pictures and was used by both of the families. Rossi, Morgan, and JJ are heading over to her address now—wait, hold on that’s JJ.”  
  
“If she’s not there, how are we supposed to find her?” Emily asked.  
  
“She may have already picked another family.” I said wearily. Shifting in my seat, I waited anxiously for Spencer to come back.  
  
“Tash?”  
  
“I’m here.”  
  
“That was JJ…they, they found her next target and went over to the house. Morgan got into an altercation with her.”  
  
“Is he alright?” My heart skipped a beat and I got to my feet.  
  
“He’s fine, but the girl didn’t make it.” I heaved out a sigh and nodded, telling him we were coming back. “Hey, are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I just…” I cast a look at the others before leaving the room. When I was outside I turned off the speakerphone and tried to phrase my thoughts appropriately. “Talking to Arnold…It just reminded me of someone.”  
  
“Oh, right.”  
  
“I’ll talk to you when I get back to the station, okay?” We said our goodbyes and I took a moment before going back in the room.  
  
“Everything alright?” Hotchner asked. I assured him that I was fine and we promptly exited the facility. Sometimes it scared me how much I depended on Spence, but I figured it could be worse. He was just one person and he was family. Not some boyfriend who could leave me or parent who could die anytime soon—not if I could help it. He was my oldest and dearest friend. I didn’t really need anyone else. It was just nice to know that no matter what I could depend on him.  
  
Although I detested burdening him with what I was feeling, when I got back to the station we kept to ourselves, cleaning up the evidence boards while I recounted the experience at the jail. There wasn’t really much to be said on his part but he was there to listen. Spencer Reid, the boy with the statistics, he never bothered with overused words of comfort. All I needed from him was to know he was there for me.


	3. Creature Fear

  
  


_"For the man sound in body and serene in mind there is no such thing as bad weather, every day has its beauty and storms which whip the blood do but make it pulse more vigorously." – George Gissing_

* * *

“So it’s at that point that the audience understands that the Ood hadn’t been referring to the Doctor and Donna as companions but rather as the version that Donna would become. It was received as one of the most cruel ways for a companion to part way with the Doctor because not only did she lose the ability to time travel and the friend she’d made, but she lost all memory of it entirely.” Spencer nodded on for a few seconds before finally taking a sip of his coffee.  
  
“I know that they can communicate telepathically, but the Ood are a slave race—I never understood how they could see into the future.”  
  
He opened his mouth to explain, but our phones went off at the same time and I knew it had to be from work. I checked the text that would be identical to Spencer’s—it was from Penelope; two short sentences putting an end to our discussion of Doctor Who and forcing us out of the coffee shop.  
  
“Two missing kids found dead.” Spencer mumbled to himself as we got into my car. We were across town from HQ so we were the last to arrive in the conference room. When we did, Penelope wasted no time in pulling up pictures of the two boys, one missing his right leg and the other both arms.  
  
“Bodies of two unidentified boys were found near Wichita, Kansas a week apart. Both were Caucasian and between the ages of 15 and 17.” She said as Reid and I looked through the files—everyone else scrolling on their tablets.  
  
“They were each found mangled in the aftermath of a Tornado?” Prentiss questioned.  
  
“Yeah, but that’s not what did them in. The ME has determined they died from blunt force trauma to the head, almost identical blows.”  
  
“What about all the other damage to their bodies?” I asked. “Some of their limbs are missing.”  
  
“The ME still hasn’t determined if that was because of the tornado or the unsub.” Penelope explained. A few ideas were bounced about the point of the tornadoes, but it came down to the fact that regardless of the role the weather played the time between kills was only a week which meant the unsub was working quickly—and we had to be quicker. Hotch told us to be on the jet in 30 minutes. “Oh, and pack for foul weather; the forecast is nasty.”  
  
When we got onto the plane I took my seat across from Spencer and JJ, Rossi sliding in beside me. It took me until we were in the air to remember what I’d packed along to keep us occupied for the ride to Kansas. I shuffled around in my go bag until I found what I was looking for and placed them on the table before me: two Rubik’s cubes and a set of chess timers.  
  
“Master Cube!” Spencer exclaimed, grabbing one of the cubes for himself as I slid the timers between us. Rossi gave us a look and I tried to explain.  
  
“It’s this game we used to play when we were little. It’s sort of just a race to see who can finish it first—and whoever solves it 3 times got to be the ‘master’ for the day.”  
  
“The problem is we both got so good at it that we always ended up tying.” Spencer added, handing his cube to JJ as I gave mine to Rossi. “Just shuffle them for us, please.”  
  
They mixed up the cubes so that no two colours were beside each other before giving them back to us. With one hand over our respective timers, we began on JJ’s mark. It was hard to explain how I knew which block to turn and how many times to do so, all I knew was that the jet had fallen quiet save for the gentle click-click of the cubes being solved. Our fingers moved fast across the plastic surfaces, and at sixteen seconds we both hit the timer, slid our cube to the other and began to shuffle for each other. At the start of our second round everyone had crowded around to watch in amusement as the Reids performed their strange little game. When at last we reached the end of the third round, the clocks stopping in unison at a total of 56 seconds, we rushed to say the name of the game first.  
  
“Master Cube!” We looked to the others for some kind of vote as to who had won, but Emily made the case that we were even.  
  
“And probably will always be even.” Rossi added, taking up my cube and staring at it.  
  
There was some turbulence as we got closer to Kansas—something that caused Rossi to grip at the arms of his chair. Everything shook and rattled, but turbulence didn’t bother me. Especially after Spence gave a little speech about the lack of correlation between turbulence and system failure on aircrafts. It didn’t, however, seem to help Rossi.  
  
Penelope came on the screen at one point to give us more about the victims—their names, a bit of a bio, but one key fact; they were both transient kids that had been charged with prostitution and possession. One of them had run away from home and the other was in foster care. Hotchner pointed out that we could be dealing with a sexual predator, an sadistic and very violent one.  
  
“Or he could be keeping the body parts for some fantasy.” I offered, successfully creeping out Garcia to the point where she sighed off.  
  
When we got to the station we were split up into groups—Morgan and Prentiss went to check out the latest crime scene, Spencer and Rossi went to the morgue to inspect the bodies, while JJ and I volunteered to interview the friends and family of the victims. JJ went in with the first victim’s mother and I was directed to a second room where a boy of about fifteen was waiting. The second victim’s best friend in the foster home.  
  
“Hey there, my name’s Natasha.” I offered him a smile and took the seat across from him, crossing one leg over the other as I looked at the notes I’d been given about him. “It looks like you and Eric were pretty good friends, huh?”  
  
“Those other kids ain’t too cool at that house.” He shrugged, looking up at me only for a moment.  
  
“Your foster mom said that you used to get into a lot of fights before Eric got there.” I did my best not to talk to him in a patronizing voice at all, because it wasn’t how any kid wanted to be spoken to.  
  
“That’s my boy. Nobody messes with me cause nobody messes with him.”  
  
“So he looks out for you?”  
  
“Yeah, we look out for each other.” He nodded, and I asked how long ago he’d last seen him. “About 3 weeks ago…Said he was running to the store and never came back. He in some kind of trouble or something?”  
  
My heart sank a little at the realization that he hadn’t been told. Of course the foster mom had been informed, but I just assumed that she would have told the children in the house. I’d given the news to family members and friends before when I was on the force, but no matter how many times you do it, it doesn’t get any easier. I took a deep breath and tried to be as empathetic as possible.  
  
“We found his body a few days ago.” He sort of just stared at me for a while with his mouth slightly agape, and I apologized sincerely before he stuttered out that he wanted to get back home. I nodded, showing him out before crossing over to Hotchner and JJ. “He took the news about Eric pretty well.”  
  
“Tough kid.” JJ said, handing me a coffee. “I guess they have to be, they’re all alone.”  
  
“Alright, so each of the victims had a strong protective instinct and was looking out for someone other than themselves.” Hotchner said after JJ and I gave a short recap of what we’d learned from our interviews.  
  
“Maybe the unsub’s keying in on that?”  
  
“But kids like that would be hard to fool.” I shook my head and took a sip of the substandard coffee. “What if he used to be one of them? I mean, kids like that would see right through someone trying to be a poser.”  
  
“If his MO is connected to the weather he’s going to try and grab another kid soon.” Hotchner said seriously as my phone started to buzz. “There’s a major system expected tonight.”  
  
“Hey Spence, what’s up?”  
  
He gave me the run-down of what he’d found at the morgue, all of which I passed on to the others. Both boys had been restrained beforehand, then drugged with cough medicine—a cheap high—and killed, their limbs chopped off with an axe or some equivalent post-mortem. Everyone returned to the station, Morgan and Prentiss relaying that the unsub probably had some mode of transportation that he drove into the path of the tornadoes—he might even be a storm chaser. With no other leads and a nasty storm coming in we had to call it a night and try again in the morning. The problem was we didn’t come back with fresh eyes and the same board; we came back to the report of another body.  
  
The lead detective told us about the latest victim—another runaway—whose scattered remains we stood in front of. It was a miracle he was identified—it was only courtesy of some tattoos on his arms—because his entire torso was missing. We were looking at a pile of arms, legs, and a head. The detective told us that there hadn’t been any actual touch down of a twister the night before which meant that, as Rossi pointed out, if we followed the storms they would lead us to our killer.  
  
“If we were to put all the pieces that’ve been taken together it would almost make an entire body.” Spencer said and I nodded.  
  
“He’s not taking bodies apart, he’s putting one together. The question is who?”  
  
When we got back to the station the police force was brought together in order to hear the profile. They stood by with their pens and paper, jotting down what they deemed important information and any notes to themselves they wanted to remember. They knew what to look out for –man in his twenties, drives a van or something like it, finds excitement in the storm but most importantly goes after troubled young boys. The police dispersed and I wandered over to Spence’s side and stared with him at the evidence board.  
  
“Doesn’t this feel a lot like he’s carrying out some fantasy or delusion?” I asked. “He’s not driven by the kill, he’s driven by fascination with the body parts.”  
  
“It’s the perfect blueprint for a psychopath…” He trailed off and I went up to the board, drawing out a stick-figure person and leaving off the only parts yet to be taken—the head and the right leg. Spencer looked at me and we had an understanding. “Hotch, I think we know how this unsub may have gotten started.”  
  
“The first victim was found missing his right leg, the second both arms, and the third his torso.” I began as the rest of the team gathered. “That leaves the right leg and the head, which we can assume would be the hardest part to find.”  
  
“It would have to fit the unsub’s fantasy perfectly.” Rossi said as Spencer nodded.  
  
“So we can assume that it would be left for last. What that tells us is there’s a victim out there that we haven’t found who’s missing a right leg.”  
  
“Alright, lemme call Garcia.” Morgan said, picking up the phone on the table and dialing.  
  
“PG at your service, don’t let the name fool you!” She answered, bringing a smile to my face despite the situation.  
  
“Baby girl, you’re on speaker.” Derek said before I started.  
  
“Hey Pen, can you look up grave robberies in the area in the last five years?”  
  
“That is a shockingly long list, who knew grave robbing was so on-trend?”  
  
“What about just morgues and funeral homes?” Emily asked.  
  
“Again, that is a shockingly long list!”  
  
“Try looking for thefts involving specifically left legs.” Spencer said. This was the golden ticket, and despite Garcia’s disgust at the request she managed to find a match, a 47 year old man who died of leukemia. His left leg was stolen during similar weather, which meant that we weren’t dealing with a preferential offender and the crimes had no sexual motive at all. Everything, to this unsub, was just a precursor to finding the perfect head. He needed the full body and then he would be able to reconstruct whoever it was he missed so much.  
  
Emily and Rossi bundled up and headed out to interview some storm chasers at a local university while the rest of us stayed at the station. A family had just come in with a little boy claiming that his older brother had been taken by some guy in an RV with a crowbar—just the kind of weapon that would have made the wounds in the victim’s heads. The newest victim was different than the others in that he was a straight A student and volunteered at a local church. It was worrisome that the unsub had wanted the boy so badly that he’d left a witness—but a storm was raging on outside that fit his preferred weather, a storm that sparked fear in the deepest parts of me.  
  
“The rashness of his actions means that he’s starting to lose grip on reality and his delusions are starting to take over.” Spencer said as we watched Hotchner take the family into a room for questioning.  
  
“What if he’s trying to recreate someone he loves?” I offered. “It’s an emotion that drives us to extremes.”  
  
“It’s probably someone he loved and lost.” Spencer added.  
  
“Wait, you said he was with his big brother, right?” JJ asked of the little boy who’d come in. We nodded and she asked Derek to call Garcia while she got Hotch. All of us met by the evidence boards as Derek dialed.  
  
“Hollah at your girl.”  
  
“Baby girl, I need those great big beautiful brains of yours.” Derek said. “Look at all the teenage male victims of tornadoes in the last ten years, same geography as before with younger brothers that survived.”  
  
“That would be ten.”  
  
“Garcia, how many of the survivors have criminal records?” Hotchner asked.  
  
“Here’s one, 22 year old Travis James—little trouble maker—charged with shoplifting, possession and prostitution all when he was a minor.”  
  
“Any registered vehicles or address?” Hotchner pushed for as thunder rumbled on, causing me to get noticeably antsier. Spencer kept giving me looks but I pretended not to notice. Garcia said there was nothing in his name but sent over a photograph that Derek compared to the police sketch he’d been given from the little boy’s description. It was a perfect match.  
  
Penelope told us James’ story, how when he was just a little boy he lost his older brother and his mother when a tornado ran through their trailer park just south of us. Before Garcia could say anything else there was a deafening rumble of thunder that shook the entire station and killed the power. I jumped, instinctively reaching out and grabbing hold of Derek. He laughed at first, teasing me about it before realizing that it wasn’t just me being silly, it was a serious fear.  
  
“You okay, Tash?” The backup generators kicked in and he could no doubt see the panic on my face. I struggled to regain my composure, nodding and finally releasing him.  
  
“Yeah, I’m just…not good with the dark. Or storms.” I shrugged it off. “Call it a creature fear.”  
  
Penelope continued with the story, how our unsub testified against a sex offender in the area and how when his brother confronted the man on the day of his release a tornado had hit, scattering pieces of his brother’s body across the park. We knew that with the storm activity in the area it wouldn’t be long before he killed the boy in his custody in order to finish the fantasy. I piled into a car with Spencer, Derek, and JJ while Hotchner went to pick up Rossi and Prentiss from the university.  
  
We drove around in this weather that should have been sending us for cover, following the radar patterns that Garcia was patching through to the team’s tablets. Spencer was dictating the type of the we were supposed to be looking for, which became Garcia’s job when the storm cut the internet even from the tablets. She struggled with this duty, asserting that there wasn’t anything with a hook-shaped pattern, until the screen changed and she began to direct us. The problem was that there were two tornadoes forming, which meant we’d have to split up. Derek followed his directions and stepped on the gas as we all kept our eyes peeled for an RV.  
  
As we drove up towards a farm Spence pointed out what looked like a sort of mobile home. There were three figures out in front of it, but the closer we got I saw it wasn’t three figures—it was two people and a headless corpse. The man who could only be Trevor James held an axe in his raised hand but began to falter as he noticed the police and us as we stepped out of the vehicle, guns raised. Morgan told him to put the axe down, but he just kept arguing, pressing the axe the kidnapped boy’s neck as we inched closer. We tried to reason with him as the wind grew fiercer, tried to remind him that his brother wouldn’t want this and that the boy he had needed to get home to his own little brother, but nothing worked. Without reason, though, he trhrew down the boy and rushed to pick up the sewn together corpse at his side, running away from us as JJ caught the boy. The policemen were yelling for us to follow them to the shelter the farm had, but Derek was trying to go after James. I ran up and pulled him away myself until he willingly followed the police offers.  
  
Before we got into the shelter I watched as the tornado, this horrifyingly large force of nature, came barrelling towards us. It sucked up James and the corpse in his arms, their forms blurred out of existence by the swirling winds. Derek pushed me down into the darkness and followed after, pulling the door shut and locking it as we were plunged into near blindness. My heart began to race, the smell of cold cement and basement-esque dampness flooding my senses. Air felt too dense. The walls felt too close. I called out weakly for Spencer in the dark and his hand found mine as I shook a little.  
  
“Tash, we’re in Wichita, Kansas, aren’t we? Kansas. We’re in the middle of Tornado Alley and a storm is passing over us. We’re safe, you’re with me and Derek and JJ, and you’re going to be fine.” He said quietly as I started to hyperventilate. Despite his words, I couldn’t help from imagining a different place.  
  
“Natasha, are you alright?” JJ wandered over as the door to the shelter shook, threatening to break right off as the tornado passed dangerously close. Spencer assured her I’d be fine as I turned into the corner, repeating his words in my mind and forcing myself to gain control. I had to be in control.  
  
Eventually the tornado passed and we were able to leave, Spencer stay close as we made it back to the station and sequentially the plane. I busied myself writing out a simple card to the boy I’d interviewed at the station, just letting him know that if he ever wanted to talk he could call me. Some of the others signed as well and JJ promised she would get it to him.  
  
I was more than happy when we got back to the windless and sunny Quantico, Virginia, taking solace in the tedious but safe task of filling out paperwork relating to the case. When I was finished I brought it up to Hotchner’s office, knocking as always before entering.  
  
“Here’s the victimology write up.” I handed it to him, worried at his shocked response that I’d messed up. “Is something wrong, sir?”  
  
“No, it’s just—usually I do this.”  
  
“It’s part of my job description, though.” I laughed.  
  
“I know, but I’d rather have the team focused on the case than worrying about what they’ve got to put into a document when we get back.”  
  
“Well I wouldn’t be comfortable with you doing work that I’m supposed to do, if that’s alright.”  
  
“If that’s what you want.” He nodded and I turned to leave. “Oh, and Natasha—”  
  
“Yes, sir?”  
  
“You don’t have to keep calling me sir. Hotch is fine.”  
  
“You got it, Bossman.” I teased before leaving him to his work. Derek was waiting at my desk when I got back, that tell-tale worried look on his face.  
  
“You okay, T-Bird?” His arms were crossed over his chest as he leaned against my desk. I raised an eyebrow at him and pulled on my jacket.  
  
“Of course I am. It’s not that uncommon to be scared of things like small spaces and the dark, okay?”  
  
Before he could get another word in I got Spencer from his desk and we left to go resume our discussion of the ridiculously old sci-fi show. At least in his presence I could count on him only worrying about asserting the validity of certain questionable moments on the show, and not about me.


	4. Favour

_"Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." – Oliver Wendell Holmes_

* * *

  
Ask just about anyone and they’ll tell you that, as an unarmed female, running alone through a secluded area with headphones in is not the best idea. It’s dangerous and unintelligent and even though the odds are in your favour you should refrain just to be safe. But to give in to that demand would mean that I also shouldn’t leave my house after dark or smile at strangers or veer off main roads. To give in to fear is to lose grip on life.  
  
I was almost at the end of my run, anyways, by the time all the self-defence classes came back to me. All of the training at the Academy, how to break bones or disarm attackers, it was at the forefront of my mind as I turned round the bend and entered the park. In four seconds I could have the guy walking his dog pinned on the ground. In ten I could render the father flying a kite partially blind. With one hit I could knock the yoga girl unconscious.  
  
The sun was high in the sky, lazily streaming down to all of the patrons of the park. The song came to an end and I slowed to a walk, stringing my headphones around my neck and fishing a water bottle out of my pack. From all around me, the sound of suburban life: pets and families and sports and swings and children laughing and running and—falling?  
  
That unmistakable wailing that every human is tuned into; it pierced the air and called the attention of the adults closest. A little ways ahead of me on the path a group of little boys had been racing, but one of them fell. I looked around, waiting for someone to claim the wounded child, but no one came. After a minute, the sight of the boy—no older than six—holding a hand to his scraped knee and taking choppy breaths was too much to ignore. I wandered over to where the other boys were watching him, kneeling before him and taking off my pack where I always kept a small first aid kit.  
  
“Are you okay, sweetie?” I asked as he struggled to wipe away his tears. He shook his head and held on tightly to his knee. “My name’s Natasha, what’s yours?”  
  
“J-Jack.” He hiccupped. I offered him a smile.  
  
“Is your mommy or daddy here, Jack?” I took out some sterilizing wipes and a band aid as he explained his dad was on the phone. “Here, let me see honey.”  
  
It was scraped up pretty bad, but he had calmed down now and watched as I cleaned it off and patched him up. He stood up as I did and waited while I threw out the garbage. At my request he set off in the direction he’d last seen his father, taking firm hold of my hand. We cut through the playground, avoiding the swings and kids hanging from the monkey bars. A familiar figure sat on the bench, stiff as usual, eyebrows furrowed as he argued with whoever was on the phone.  
  
“This conference was booked months ago, I made a commitment to be there. It would only be for a few hours on Saturday, if you could just watch him for—okay. No. No, I guess I’ll figure something out though.”  
  
Jack limped up to Hotchner, his bottom lip jutting out in a heart wrenching pout. He called out to his father, who snapped up at his voice and looked from the sad face to the bandaged knee to the held hand to me. He abruptly ended the call, snapping the phone shut.  
  
“He had a little wipeout on the pavement.” I explained as the boy clambered into his father’s grasp. He took a moment, tending to his son before turning his attention back and thanking me. “Don’t sweat it, Bossman. Everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah, I just—” He heaved a sigh, turning Jack so that he was sitting on his lap as I took a seat. “I said I’d take him next weekend but I’ve been scheduled to speak at a conference in Richmond.”  
  
“The one on negotiations, right?” I asked, smiling at Jack as he offered me a rock from his pocket. Hotch nodded. “I think Spence said he was going. But listen, if you need someone to watch him while you go I’d be more than happy to.”  
  
“I couldn’t ask that of you.” He protested.  
  
“Hey, you didn’t ask; I offered.” Jack pushed on the bandage and picked at its edges absently. “I understand if you don’t know me well enough to, though.”  
  
“It isn’t that,” He thought for a moment before turning Jack back around and asking him if it would be okay if I watched him for a few hours next weekend. He nodded and then asked if he could go play again. We worked out the details and he gave me his address, thanking me again before I excused myself to finish my run home. Of all the people on the team Hotch was the one I felt I’d bonded with the least, next to JJ; so I figured this would be a good way to break the general ice.  
  


* * *

  
At 7:55 I rang the doorbell, struggling to keep a hold on all the bags I’d brought. The door opened shortly and I earned a Hotchner-smile for the record books as he welcomed me into his house. He took the bags from me, asking what I’d brought as Jack hopped down the stairs one by one.  
  
“Just some stuff to keep us occupied. Arts and crafts and that kind of thing.”  
  
He gave a quick tour as he rushed to put on his blazer, handing me a list of emergency contacts in case he didn’t answer. I almost laughed, feeling like a teenager on her first babysitting gig. I made sure Jack was allergy free and then asked if there were any rules that had to be followed. He grabbed his keys and wallet as he promised he trusted my judgement.  
  
“I should be back around 7.” It was so clear he had a million things going through his mind as he bent down and kissed Jack on the forehead before giving the place one last look to see if he’d forgotten to mention anything. When he was content his eyes finally rested on me. “I really can’t thank you enough for this.”  
  
“Let’s see how much of a mess I make before you do any thanking.” I joked as he unlocked the door.  
  
“Call if you need anything.” The door locked behind him and I heard the sound of the car door slamming shut, the engine starting up and floating farther and farther away. At last I turned to Jack, the faded remnant of his skinned knee no longer needing bandages.  
  
“Have you had breakfast yet, Jack?” He was lying on the couch watching cartoons; with a yawn he turned to me and shook his head. I sat down and pulled him onto my lap. “Would you like to help me make some pancakes?”  
  
He was just like any other kid. He smiled and laughed and was ticklish under his arms; he loved to play and draw and feel like he was helping. We made a horrid mess of the kitchen, though, with flour coating the counters and globs of pancake batter splattered on the stove top and the ladle sitting in a puddle of batter on the countertop. He was overly-generous with his maple syrup, drowning the pancakes in a way, no doubt, Hotch never would have let him; but this was the best part of being watched by someone who wasn’t your mom or dad—you could do what they would never let you do. The blueberries in the pancakes turned into A staining devices, creating a blue and sticky mess all around his mouth where he tried to shovel in too much food. Before cleaning him up I made sure to take a picture, sending it to Hotch in hopes that it would put him a bit at ease.  
  
We left the mess of the kitchen to pull something out of the bags I’d brought. I emptied the contents on the coffee table in the living room and let him pick what he wanted to do. The first thing he pulled out was a handprint-making kit. He helped me mix up the plaster and pour it into the frame, and was more than happy to show me his counting skills as we counted out the five minutes his hand needed be in the mold for the imprint to stay. I put it up on a shelf while we waited for it to dry and told him to pick something else.  
  
We accomplished a million things—at least, on the kid scale. We had successfully turned the main floor upside down; things trailing from one room to another as if we were a hurricane leaving a path of destruction. Jack made a wonderfully explosive volcano and beat me at every board game we played—Hungry, Hungry Hippos, Operation, Monopoly Jr., and Sorry. After a grilled cheese lunch break (which ended in ketchup smeared on the table like a murder scene) I let him finish the now-dry handprint with stickers and paint. When he was content with it I wrote his name and the date on the back, shaking my head at the fact that I should have just been a kindergarten teacher.  
  
He didn’t talk a whole lot, but I could tell there were hundreds of cogs turning in his head all the time. He concentrated so fully on things, dedicating himself to his current task one-hundred percent. I tried to fathom how he was so well-off with the absence of a mother and so little time spent with his father. Not that it was my place to judge, and I knew first-hand how demanding Hotch’s job was—I just admired the kid for holding it together so well. He didn’t need asking twice to spend some time colouring while I cleaned up the disaster zone we’d created. I found a host of cleaning supplies under the sink in the kitchen and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, searching through closets until I found a vacuum cleaner and fixing up the living room too.  
  
When all was clean I pulled out a surprise for Jack: his very own superhero costume. It wasn’t anything magnificent—just the customary red shiny cape and a mask—but to any six year old with an imagination it might as well have been a full suit of armor. He jumped off the couch and ran around the living room, looking back to see the cape flying behind him. I chased him around a bit and pretended to be an evil villain so he could apprehend me: and then he said the most adorable thing.  
  
“Now I can help my daddy catch the bad guys!”  
  
My heart melted and I made him strike a few poses so that I had a permanent reminder of this would-be superhero. He stared at his cape for a while and then was suddenly gripped by an overwhelming desire to build a fort. Of course I indulged him, letting him lead the way upstairs to where the blankets were kept and bringing down a few. It felt odd, almost invasive, wandering on the top floor. I spent as little time there as possible; it just wasn’t my place. With the support of cushions we built up a fort fit for a six year old superhero.  
  
He crawled inside with some paper and crayons, drawing up some pictures of himself defeating villains and his dream vehicle and what the fort must’ve looked like inside his head. I hung each finished picture on the fridge in a neat and tidy block; and when he was starting to wear out he pulled off his mask and picked a book off of the table—I Spy. He clambered onto the couch beside me and we set to work. He managed to find most of the things himself but got stumped on a few and asked for my help. I had lucked out that he warmed up to me so quickly, because it would have been a very long day otherwise.  
  
At about 4 o’clock I took Jack with me to the grocery store to buy the ingredients to make a pizza. He decided on mushrooms, pepperoni and extra extra cheese. I had to do most of the dough, seeing as it was the hardest part, but I gave him free reigns on the rest of it. After we’d eaten and cleaned up I let him watch some kids shows while I rounded up all the things I’d brought. Tiptoeing upstairs, I left the bag in Jack’s room, having no reason to keep any of the things for myself. By quarter to seven he was starting to tire and he changed into his pajamas—but kept the cape on.  
  
At his request I began to read to him, and with each successive book he crawled more and more onto my lap. By the time we reached the last book it was 7:30 and he was twisting his hair between his fingers, eyes heavy and his breathing slowing. I grew a little anxious at the fact that Hotch was late—because he certainly never was for work—but dismissed it as Jack curled up against me and nodded off to sleep. I barely moved for fear of waking him, but managed to pull a case file out of my bag and get some work done.  
  
At 8:15 Hotch walked in the door, apologies already starting, but I shushed him and pointed out the sleeping child. My arms were awkwardly placed around Jack’s body as I tried to write around him. Hotch smiled at his boy, quietly setting down his keys and folders and jacket. He shook his head at the sight of me trying to work, but crouched at the arm of the couch and put a hand on his son’s back.  
  
“He didn’t give you too much trouble?” He whispered.  
  
“Oh, he was a total monster.” I teased. He tried to wake Jack enough to take him from my arms, but at his attempts the boy grunted and wrapped his arms around my neck. I smiled, setting the case file down on the couch and taking hold of the boy, following Hotch up the stairs to Jack’s room where he pulled back the blankets and helped take the cape off before I set him down and tucked him in. I left Hotch alone to say goodnight to his son, going back downstairs and beginning to clean up the fort.  
  
“I’m sorry, they kept me later than I’d anticipated.” He said quietly as he descended the stairs.  
  
“It’s no problem.” I slid the last cushion back into its place and began to fold the blankets. “We made pizza for dinner, I put the rest of it in the microwave if you feel like eating. Jack’s quite the chef.”  
  
“Thanks.” He laughed, helping with the other blanket as I began to gather my things. “What’s with the cape?”  
  
“Oh, right.” I pulled out my phone and sent the superhero pictures to his phone. “I didn’t want to interrupt the conference so I didn’t send them before. He said he wanted to help you catch the bad guys.”  
  
I left him to flick through the photos, slipping on my jacket and grabbing the case file off the couch. I packed it into my bag and got my keys out, slipping into my shoes and unlocking the door.  
  
“Listen, I really appreciate this, Natasha.” He said as I opened the door just an inch.  
  
“Don’t mention it.” I smiled, but began to open the door and back through it as he reached for his wallet. He began to shuffle through it and I called out for him to stop. “What am I, Hotch, fourteen? I’m not taking any money. Just get some sleep, okay?”  
  
“Natash—”  
  
“I’m already out the door, sorry!” I backed down the steps, holding my hands up.  
  
“I owe you.” He said in defeat at the doorway.  
  
“See you Monday, Bossman.”


	5. Break

_"Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs the torments of man." - Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

“You ready to go?” I stuck my head in Hotch’s office, disrupting him from his seemingly endless pile of paperwork. His eyebrows furrowed and I sighed, knowing at once he’d forgotten completely.  
  
“Go?”  
  
“We’re all supposed to go to Malone’s for dinner.” I crossed my arms and stood up straight, giving him a look.  
  
“Right, that was tonight…I think I’ll have to take a rain check.”  
  
“Uh-uh. If you don’t take a break your damn hand is going to fall off. C’mon Bossman, we’re all waiting on you.”  
  
He sighed but eventually gave in, knowing that I was right—and I believed that deep down he did want some sort of break too, and this was as close as we were going to get. We all piled into our cars and drove to the nearby restaurant, a place that had become a favourite of the team’s long before my arrival. It was a homey little place, nothing fancy or anything. It had a bar at one end and some darts and pool at the other, the tables simple.  
  
There were eight of us who made it—Garcia missing out in favour of date night with her boyfriend and fellow FBI tech analyst Kevin Lynch, while JJ’s husband Will had managed to find a babysitter and therefore joined us. I took a seat between Emily and Derek, shrugging off my jacket and picking up the menu at the request of my growling stomach. A plethora of comfort food was available: burgers and nachos and all things deep fried. After about five minutes of debating we all placed our orders and relaxed into the atmosphere bereft of ringing phones and paperwork and the darkest depths of human ambition.  
  
“So Natasha, JJ tells me you came all the way from Chicago?” Will asked, arm draped around his wife.  
  
“Actually I started out in Vegas. I got my degree in criminal justice and joined the LVPD right out of university. I only stayed there for about three years, though.”  
  
“How come?” JJ asked.  
  
“My dad was a cop on the force—he was killed on duty when I was twelve—and some of the other cops were under the impression I was only let in out of sympathy. Not exactly the kind of environment you’d want to be in.” I laughed, taking my drink from the waitress and thanking her. “So I put in for a transfer to the Chicago PD where I was partnered with this complete asshole. Totally self-centred, always flirting with me, thought he was the most wonderful thing on the planet.”  
  
“The most wonderful and handsome thing on the planet.” Derek corrected, nudging me. “You can’t just leave out the important parts.”  
  
“You were partnered with Morgan?” Emily gave me a sympathetic look.  
  
“He wasn’t half-bad. We only worked together for two years before he moved up in the world.”  
  
“And my poor little T-Bird had to learn to fend for herself.” He teased, slinking an arm around my shoulder that I shrugged off before hitting his arm.  
  
“Is T-Bird a reference we’re supposed to get?” Rossi asked with a cocked eyebrow.  
  
“It’s actually a reference to a leather jacket that Tash used to wear,” Spence began in his whirlwind-way of speaking. “Which Morgan thought resembled the type of jackets worn in the movie Grease by the main male characters who dubbed themselves as the Thunderbirds or T-Birds for short mostly because of the vehicles they drove—it’s also a play on her nickname of Tasha, which can be shortened to T, thus the nickname T-Bird.”  
  
“Thank you, Boy Genius.” Morgan teased before turning to me. “Hey how come I never see you wearing that thing anymore? It made you look _mean_.”  
  
“It got real beat up and started falling apart so I had to ditch it.”  
  
The food arrived, Derek wasting no time in digging in to his plate of ribs. Emily and I got a big plate of nachos to share that, despite the cheese still steaming with heat, we hurried to ingest. It was odd being out with so many people at once—I’d kept a much smaller circle in Chicago—but it was refreshing in a way. Several different conversations could be going on at once but it still felt like one cohesive unit. After about fifteen minutes the waitress came by again and put a daiquiri in front of me, explaining it was from ‘the gentleman at the bar’.  
  
“Derek,” I groaned, pushing the drink away from me and refusing to look at the bar. “We’ve got a 507T”  
  
“507…A public nuisance?” Will asked but I shook my head as Derek sighed, setting down the food in his hand.  
  
“507T. It’s part of this pact we made to sort of look out for each other.” I explained weakly, nudging Derek to hurry up.  
  
“Baby girl, unless you want barbeque sauce in your hair you better gimme a minute to clean up.” He scolded, wiping his hands until they were clean before draping an arm around me and pressing his lips to my forehead. “You’re crazy, you know that right?”  
  
“You’ve been kind enough to point it out multiple times.”  
  
“What’s a 507T?” Emily asked, casting a glance over at the bar.  
  
“Someone giving her attention she didn’t want whenever we went out.” He stole a nacho from my plate as I looked over at Emily.  
  
“He pulled it quite a few times too, don’t let him fool you.” I explained. “But I don’t date—and if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be guys I found at a bar.”  
  
“Well you better cozy up because this one is coming to you.” Emily raised her eyebrows and took a sip of her drink as I tried to look as unapproachable as possible. The table fell quiet as the man approached, standing awkwardly at the end of the table and keeping his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat once and stammered a minute before speaking.  
  
“Uh—hi Natasha.” My eyebrows furrowed as I looked over at the mystery man, a sense of guilt and embarrassment filling me up as I realized my mistake.  
  
“Darren, hi!” I slipped out of Derek’s grasp and excused myself from the team, going over to the bar and taking a seat across from Darren. He looked better than he had the last time I’d seen him, he’d managed to shave and his hair didn’t look so crazy. He still had all of the tiredness and grief in his eyes, though. “I’m so sorry about that, it’s a reflex for me to ignore any free drinks and—”  
  
“Nah, don’t worry about it. I didn’t take it personally.” He gave me a weak smile and I nodded, placing my hand on his arm.  
  
“How have you been? We missed you last week.”  
  
“Chelsea was in a play at school. But I’m…better. I think. There’s not that…” He motioned to his chest area. “That heaviness here. Sometimes I can breathe again”  
“That’s really good.” I smiled. “Have you been writing the letters?”  
  
“Yeah, actually…” He shuffled through his pockets and produced a piece of paper folded up into a square. Only one in a sequence of letters he’d written to the wife he lost to a drunk driver a year ago. “This is the last one.”  
  
“I’m happy for you, Darren. You’re doing really well.”  
  
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you guys so just…I mean, thank you doesn’t even cover it.”  
  
“You don’t have to say thank you. Just know that you’ve got my number if you ever need to talk.”  
  
“Hopefully I won’t need it.” He smiled. “Anyways, I’ll let you get back to your friends—Andrea’s bringing Chelsea by soon so I should get home.”  
  
“It was nice seeing you, Darren.” I embraced him before he left and I returned to the table. “Sorry about that.”  
  
“Who was that?” Spencer asked.  
  
“I do grief counselling with Penelope a few nights a week, that was one of the members.” I pulled apart some chips and loaded them up with salsa.  
  
“How do you find the time for that?” Hotch asked and I shrugged.  
  
“You make the time, I guess.”  
  
The truth is, it’s just so much easier to forget your own problems when you’re drowning in everyone else’s. The best kind of work was the kind that you could lose yourself in: and with no shortage of paperwork at the FBI and an ever expanding pool of people needing to talk at group I had found my niche. Who had time to worry about their own life when the whole wide world needed looking after? Who had time to pause and think when the next day needed planning, the previous day needed fixing, the current day needed an ending?  
  
I told Emily to remind me to give her back the necklace that had gotten mixed up in my things when we’d gone shopping the previous weekend. It was strange—although, ultimately comforting—how quickly she and I had become close. It was a spontaneous feeling of deep trust, the sisterhood-like bond that you feel in high school when surrounded by girls you can’t ever imagine leaving. Can’t ever imagine losing.  
  
When I excused myself to go wash my hands Emily came with me. I thought about the unwritten rule that females followed for some unknown reason regarding washrooms and accompaniment. Maybe it was just because it was a safe place to talk without being overheard. Or at least, that seemed to make the most sense for this occasion. I slipped off my ring, balancing it atop the soap dispenser before lathering up. Emily leaned against the wall and took in that tell-tale deep breath that meant something important was coming.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure thing.” I scrubbed at the edges of my nails to get all the grease from the melted cheese off.  
  
“Please tell me if this is too personal or out of line or—”  
  
“Emily, just ask.” I laughed, flicking the water off of my hands.  
  
“Did you…Were you and Morgan ever a thing?” I turned to her with wide eyes, drying off my hands.  
  
“Morgan? No way.” I laughed, throwing the crumpled paper in the trash before turning back to her with worry. “Oh God, is that what it looks like? Does everyone think that?”  
  
“No, no, no!” She said hurriedly. “I mean, he acts the same with Garcia, I was just—I was just curious.”  
  
“We’re just good friends.” I assured her, turning to the mirror to fix myself up a bit as she did the same. “Besides, I don’t think anyone could ever love Derek Morgan as much as Derek Morgan does.”  
  
“I think you’re right.” She laughed. We returned to the table and everyone sort of melted into that content after-dinner talk that was always more sleepy than before. A reflection of the complacency of all the full stomachs.  
  
When I’d first considered transferring a big part of me shied away from the idea, hating the notion of yet another monumental change. But the fact of the matter was Chicago was not my home, and Vegas hadn’t felt like home for a ridiculously long time—at least in Virginia I could be near Spence and Derek and have a fresh start and be in a nicer area and not work under a racist asshole of a supervisor.  
  
The pros really outweighed the cons, but even when I’d made the decision to apply I never expected to actually get it. Although I hated to admit it I assumed that the advantage I had over all of the other applicants was the fact that a relative had already proven themselves to be quite an asset to the Bureau. My years on the force, though, had given me an edge in the physical exams above the other applicants. Whatever the combination of factors which lead to my acceptance into the Bureau I was extremely thankful for them. Despite the workload and the horrible sights that came with the job it was where I wanted to be.  
  
It gave me hope.


	6. Minimal Loss

_"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and of unspeakable love." – Washington Irving_

* * *

“Guys, you need to see this.” JJ grabbed the remote for the television and changed the channel, turning up the volume so we could hear the news report. Derek and I stopped fooling around at the tone of worry in her voice, falling silent as the report went on.

The man on the television meant nothing to me at first, but then he stated his location. La Plata County, Colorado. And he explained what was happening: a shootout had started between the Colorado police force and the French religious group calling themselves the Separatarian Sect. The sect resided on a ranch—the one Emily and Spencer had left to consult on as part of a child abuse and occult case. My stomach was in knots.

“It is believed the three child services agents are still stuck inside on this police raid-gone wrong.” The man on the television said as I screamed out for Hotch, feet glued to the floor. As the report drew to a close I looked over at Derek, trying to figure out how on earth to react. When the broadcast ended all of the phones on the floor started ringing off the hook, which Hotch said meant we were the lead in hostage rescue and negotiations. We got on the jet immediately, the whole time my fingers ripping at the skin around my nails.

Garcia gave us the basics on the ranch on the flight over, how it originated as a Libertarian-cult but the original leader was serving 17 years in prison. JJ explained how the raid had been called by a local politician running for re-election and hoping to use the raid to his advantage. Some asshole trying to make another term in power was the reason Em and Spence were in danger. Although it made my blood boil, although I wanted to scream and panic and run into the place myself, I knew that I had to be rational. None of that would improve the situation, so I needed to remain calm as we drove from the airport to the ranch. Keep cool as we climbed out to the tents set up for our temporary base. Pray to God that Hotch appointing Rossi as lead negotiator was the right thing to do. A man started yelling off to our left about someone not being in charge and the ridiculousness of the situation.

“I’m the attorney general of this state! I demand to know why I wasn’t told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the sectarian ranch!”

And just like that, Hotchner switched from concerned colleague to absolute alpha-male. He walked up to the attorney general with a scowl and anger in his voice I’d only heard back when he spoke to Carl Arnold.

“The only thing that you’re in a position to demand is a lawyer.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Aaron Hotchner, unit chief. I’m the guy who’s going to tell the attorney general of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.”

“You can’t talk to me like that!” The man scowled as I exchanged a look with JJ at this sudden side of our boss that I’d never expected to be directed at anyone other than a criminal. Hotch took a step closer, narrowing his eyes at the man and standing tall, a few inches taller.

“Get off my crime scene.” He hissed. The man huffed before stomping off back to his car and yelling at his driver, and rolling up the tinted window as the wheels of the car spun dirt clouds into the air. Rossi and Hotch spoke to the man who was taking orders, getting a briefing on the situation as Derek, JJ and I stood by for further directions. When they’d finished talking we were directed into a trailer that had been set up with a bunch of tech stuff but was being used for the moment as a debriefing room.

“This type of scenario is called minimal loss,” Rossi began. “Every person we get out is a life saved. We won’t save them all. All of us have to be prepared to accept that situation.”

And as hard as I tried, I couldn’t.

“Cults are structured like pyramids.” Derek began, walking over to a tiny whiteboard and drawing the shape. “At the top you’ve got the leader. Under him, the die-hard believers. The base, the biggest group, is the followers. Women and children. These are the people we can save.”

“The trickle-flow-gush strategy is designed to get base followers out.” Hotch explained. “First one or two, then three or four, then as many as we can as fast as we can. If at any point it starts to go bad, we go in.”

“The leaders are charismatic sociopaths, who target those most susceptible to their seduction.” Rossi said. “We have to undermine the perception that we’re an invading army laying siege to their home.”

All of the state cops had been sent away, seeing as they were the ones who had messed everything up in the first place, and all remaining personnel were demilitarized to the greatest extent and dressed in plain clothes instead of uniform. The day grew darker as Rossi and Hotch prepared to make the first communication with the church leader. A little girl was put on the radio saying how her parents had been killed and wondering if we were going to kill her too. Rossi assured her that no one was going to hurt her before a man came on.

“This is Benjamin Cyrus, who am I talking to?”

“David Rossi, I’m an FBI agent. We sent the state police away, there’s just us and the local sheriff. All we want to do is resolve this before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Then leave us alone.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that. One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just resolve this before things get worse. Please just put down your guns and come out.”

“We’re believers Dave. We believe that God says what he means and means what he says.”

“I have no issues with your beliefs.”

“You don’t, but the state does.”

“Well I can’t answer for them. Now the three child services workers.”

“One of them is dead. It wasn’t us.” At his words I covered my mouth, reminding myself the need to keep a level head. It wasn’t Spencer or Emily. It couldn’t be them. It wasn’t possible.

“I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name is Nancy Lund.” I exhaled the breath burning in my lungs and allowed myself a moment of peace at the fact that, for now, they were safe. I didn’t even feel bad for my lack of remorse at the death of Nancy. It would no doubt haunt me later. Rossi asked for Cyrus to send out his wounded but he refused, asking only for supplies which Rossi promised would be delivered at first light. I didn’t want to linger on the thought of Em and Spence stuck in there over night.

“They could take you hostage.” Derek pointed out as we all helped to put together the requested medical kits. “At least let me go with you.”

“No.” Rossi objected, taking out his gun and putting it on the table. “This thing is about trust.”

We concealed microphones in all of the bags we were sending in so that we could have some form of surveillance in the place, seeing as parabolic microphones wouldn’t work on the windows. I felt completely useless otherwise, just sitting by and waiting for the moment I was told there was something I could do. Anything I could do to help bring them to safety.

“How you doing, T-Bird?” Derek asked, nudging my foot under the table with his own. It was only at this action I realized I’d been twitching my leg in anxiety.

“I’ll be fine.” I nodded, looking out the window at the sliver of building I could make out between the tress. “I just…want them back.”

When the sun rose I helped pack up the boxes and bags into the back of a pickup truck and wished Rossi luck as he got in and drove down to the church. Again, I was stuck doing absolutely nothing but waiting impatiently while he made the trek down to exchange the supplies for proof of life. JJ was off making phone calls to local media stations to try and keep the news contained, seeing as the cult had full access to televisions. Sighing, I went back inside and sat down beside Hotch.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not for the moment.” He said, eyebrows furrowed as he kept his eyes peeled for the return of David. “I know this must be hard, with how close you and Reid are.”

This was the reason for the slightly elevated concern. Because of course everyone on the team cared about Emily and Spencer, of course everyone wanted them back safely. But if something went wrong and Spencer didn’t make it—well, I would be the first to be notified. They wouldn’t just have to deal with a phone call to Nevada and hear a weeping Dianna Reid, they would have to witness firsthand the complete breakdown of a team member.

“You know, for my sixteenth birthday Spence bought me this 600 page collection of Cicero’s greatest work complete with anecdotes and appendices—the entire thing in Latin.”

“What the hell kind of twelve year old buys his cousin a book in Latin?” Derek asked, walking over with JJ.

“I think Spence is probably alone in that.” She smiled.

“He spent five months teaching me the language until I could read the whole thing myself.” At this we all sort of smiled, acknowledging that yes, this was very much a Spencer thing to do. A reason to love him. A reason to miss him.

“What was he like as a kid?” JJ asked causing me to laugh.

“Exactly the same. Only less of a genius at that point, I guess. It still didn’t make for good ice breakers in 8th grade. There was this one time when a girl in my grade kept making fun of him all the time, and he told me to leave it but—he’s like my little brother, you know? I had to stand up for him. So one time in the hallway she was mouthing off and I lunged at her and kept her pinned down until she apologized. After that everyone sort stopped saying anything—to his face, at least. I don’t think it’s what my dad had in mind when he taught me self-defence, though.”

It felt more like a sad memory because Spencer wasn’t there to hear the story and Emily wasn’t there to make some joke out of it. When the gravel started crunching we all turned to the door, Rossi walking through and promising that they were all okay. Before he had time to say anything else one of the men reported he was picking up a signal from the microphones and we all grabbed a headset to listen in.

“We have all just drunk the poison.” I turned to Derek with wide eyes, and just like that the environment changed. Hotch was instructing the second-in-command, Dan, to prepare the men to go in. Rossi was fighting this, explaining how mass suicide didn’t fit at all, how Cyrus had been too calm and completely lucid for this to be his plan. If they went in and this was a bluff, people would die. My heart was racing but I sided with Rossi, trusting his instincts and not wanting to go near anything that would put all those people as well as Spence and Emily in danger. Cyrus rambled on for some time before explaining that he _had_ been bluffing, testing the loyalty of the people to see if they walked with Satan or not.

JJ announced that the cult’s previous leader was here from jail and Derek took over talking to him. It was a short conversation that ended with him making a full map of the place for us and promising to help us in any way possible to get Cyrus—who was using a fake name and had actually been accused of child molestation as a young man—off of the ranch. Garcia gave us what she could on him but there wasn’t much by way of leverage. Hotch was in the middle of telling JJ what to release to the press when she got that look on her face that meant something wasn’t going our way. She pulled up a feed of the same broadcaster we’d seen the previous day, this time painting an even worse picture. Apparently someone at the attorney general’s office had leaked that an FBI agent was in the ranch, a notion that would more than likely drive the volatile leader already on edge to take drastic measures. Possibly fatal ones.

I picked up a pair of headphones along with the others and listened as a gun was cocked and pointed at someone. My heart was racing as Cyrus demanded to know which one of them was an FBI agent. There was no outcome of this situation that I would be okay with, and as Emily took the blame I cringed at the sound of her being hit. We had to listen as she was dragged somewhere and beaten like a rag doll, things breaking around her and a mirror smashing. Every part of me wanted to tear the headphones away, but it would be an injustice to her to take refuge in the silence of the room and leave her to wince and cry out with every blow.

“I can take it.” She said, Cyrus’ rage elevating as Hotch and Rossi argued about whether or not to go in. As much as I wanted to go in my damn self, get rid of Cyrus and get Emily the help she needed, it would blow the whole thing out of the water. “I can take it!”

“We have to go in there.” Hotch said as Derek ripped the head phones off.

“Listen to what she’s saying.” I pleaded as she was hit again and again.

“She’s antagonizing him.” Hotch said.

“No, she’s talking to us. She’s telling us not to go in.”

There would be time to worry later. For now, they were keeping her alive and they would likely send one of the women to tend to her. Spencer’s voice was registering again as he spoke with Cyrus about not knowing of Emily being an FBI agent. Cyrus believed him. Spencer worked his way in, little by little, until he convinced him that the best thing to do would be to release just one child in exchange for the name of the agent.

We waited until morning for the call to come.

Rossi said, as he was expected to, that he couldn’t reveal the name of the agent despite Cyrus’ promises not to harm her. Cyrus released a child nonetheless in a show of good faith, and Hotch sent Derek to cover me as I went to pick her up. She was so little, this girl who’d lost her parents in the raid. She wandered up the dirt road crying as Derek drove up near her and kept an eye out.

“Hi sweetheart,” I crouched down a little as the girl looked at me nervously so that I was more at her level. “It’s okay honey, just come to me. I’m going to help you, okay?”

She hesitated a moment before running into my arms. I held her closely, trying to calm her tears as I carried her back into the car and Derek reported that we had her safe and sound. She called out for her mommy and I did my best to hush her fears, stroking her hair and promising everything would be alright. When we got back she was taken by a child services rep and we were filled in on what had happened—the sudden pouring out of people from the church were released due to their lack of loyalty. Shortly after another phone call came, Cyrus saying that he would surrender the following day at noon but wanted the media there to ensure they were treated fairly. He also asked for food to be sent in for everyone, to which Rossi willingly obliged.

Spencer started talking again with Cyrus and the man who had been there the last time, Christopher. Spence got further into Cyrus’ good books by flawlessly explaining the plan he deduced to have been made—that at noon the true mass suicide would happen in front of the media. Christopher asked how Spencer could have known all of that.

“I’m always looking for a sign of what’s to come.” He said.

“He’s talking to us.” I said, heart racing. “He’s asking us to tell them when we’re coming in—But they still have all those children, we need to hit them when they’re least prepared.”

“3 am.” Dan said, explaining something about biorhythms affecting our mental preparedness most at that hour.

“We need a diversion, something that plays with their expectations.” Derek said as men were fixing up the requested food.

“The plan is hinged on Reid and Prentiss being able to separate the remaining followers from the diehards—and making sure the diehards don’t get in the way of our plans, but that’s not my main concern.”

“What is your main concern?” Derek asked.

“Letting them know when we’re coming. The whole thing is useless if they don’t know we’re going in at 3am.”

“What if…” I got to my feet, crossing to the containers of food and prying the lid off of one. I raised my eyebrows to see if they got where I was going with things, but proceeded to write on the lid a little blurb about how the restaurant was open late till 3 am—underlining the last part and adding a few explanation points. “Spence will get it. He’ll make the connection.”

As we crawled deeper into the second night my eyes began to strain with tiredness. The food had been delivered and a message had been given to Emily about the time by way of shining a laser through the window to the room she was in. She would get the women and children into the basement for 3 am, that was the easy part. The hard part was finding a way to get her and Spence separated from the diehards and Cyrus himself. Every few minutes I glanced at my watch, forever willing it to be time for us to go in and commence the rescue mission.

At 2:45 we geared up, the vest feeling like lead on my torso and the gun on my waist more like a wooden sword against the fear I was swallowed in. They’d made it this long, I wasn’t about to lose them now. While we waited for the command Derek took my hand in his. A gesture established between us long ago as a subtle reminder that things would be okay. An unspoken promise. The grown up pinky swear. A pact without the blood that we made to one another: whatever it took, we would bring them out alive.

We got to the basement entrance, a battalion of hummers driving up to the front to create a distraction as the SWAT team disarmed the guard in the basement and filed in. A sense of relief rushed over me as Emily turned the corner, a procession of women and children following her. I ran to her, eyes wide at the bruises and blood that decorated her as she explained the whole place was wired to explode.

“Em, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, we need to get everyone out of here now.” She helped usher people towards the door as Rossi said we needed to get her medical attention.

“We need to get Reid!” She exclaimed, voicing my opinions for me.

“I will get Reid, where is he?” Derek promised as Emily explained where to go. “Tash, get them out of here.”

“Derek—” I reached out to tell him I was going with him but he gave me a silencing look and I pleaded him to be careful before helping Emily and the others out of the building. I worked at getting them as far away from the building as I could, but we were only half way to a safe distance when the ground shook and the sky lit up with fire. I turned back in horror at the sight of the building blown up, smoke flying at us and orange glowing through the blown out windows. For a moment it just felt like I was dreaming, because this couldn’t possibly be my reality.

I left the pack of people, knowing that there was enough of a police force to get everyone away safely. My feet wandered to the long steps of the main building, waiting for Spencer and Derek. Waiting for their return. For their voices. For a sign of life. Anything. But it didn’t come. Rossi and Hotch flanked me as we stared at the flaming building, praying to God that our worst fears weren’t coming true. My heart was pumping blood so quickly I could hear it in my ears, eyes going watery at the smoke flying into them. I took a step forward, and then another, but Hotch’s hand grabbed me. I threw him off, screaming for Spencer as I broke into a run for the burning building. I almost made it to the fire, the heat hitting me in waves, when two figures stumbled out of the rubble. My boys. I cried out, throwing my arms around the both of them as they struggled for air. A muffled thank you left me for Derek before I turned all my attention to Spence.

I knew how much Spencer hated being babied. He’d suffered so much bullying his whole life for his maturity and intelligence—it was as intimidating as having a gun in your face. It wasn’t easy for him always being the kid, always being that little boy in the BAU who speaks in statistics and fights with logic. That in addition to his slight build just made him a target—everyone always wanted to care for him, everyone always wanted to cradle him like a child. I knew better than most how irritated he was with this, but he knew better than most why it was such a profound gesture of kindness that he allowed me to do it.

Without Spencer I was hopeless; a floater adrift in the sea with no sign of land or ship. He somehow represented everything I’d ever lost, this last glimmering hope at rescuing what had been taken from me. I wept for him openly, using him as a surrogate for myself. I was not the victim. I would never be a victim. He didn’t try to stop my crying or brush off my panicked tone or worm his way out of my grasp—because he knew. He understood. If I could just keep him safe, maybe things would be alright.

If I could just save him, maybe I could save myself.

* * *

  
On the jet home, my eyes were still sore and red and puffy from the crying. I figured that, if ever there was a time where weakness was to be allowed on the job, it could be at the end of one when everyone returned safely. I sat on the end of the couch, Spencer’s feet draped across my lap. It comforted me having him so close, so safe and alive and at peace in his sleep. Because it was late most of the team had gravitated to their own corners of the plane, but I caught Rossi and JJ smiling at the sight of me. They were sitting in the quad with Hotch as he did some paperwork. Looking over at Spencer, I figured it would be okay to venture a few feet away. Getting to my feet and making sure the blanket covered him properly, I took a seat beside JJ and pulled my sweater closer.  
  
“You know, I knew everything he did with this job was dangerous, but it’s so much more different being there when it happens; not being able to do a damn thing.” I shook my head at the sight of him, smiling despite myself. “I owe you guys for keeping an eye out for him all this time.”  
  
“He’s a good kid.” Rossi said.  
  
“You know how much he loves you guys, right?” I turned to face them. Rossi and Hotch gave me incredulous looks, as if the word Spencer and Love weren’t exactly synonymous terms. But JJ, she understood.  
  
“Reid?” Hotch joked.  
  
“What do you think we talked about all these years?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not hard to imagine that his circle of friends was nil. Then he came to this place and found you guys and he didn’t feel so alone anymore. Even though you tease him, you care for him. And as much as he’ll never be able to put it into non-awkward terminology, he loves you guys.”  
  
The words hung in the air for a few moments before I left to be with a still conscious Emily. I reached out and took her hand in mine, squeezing it gently. A simple way of saying how glad I was she was with us without breaking into a chick flick moment in the middle of the jet.  
  
It was just good to have everyone safe.


	7. Confession

_"All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark. That's in the nature of secrets." – Cory Doctorow_

* * *

  
“So I figured the best way to clean the bowl would be bleach, to really get all the slime or algae off the sides.”  
  
“Oh, Natasha. You didn’t.” Emily said wide-eyed, holding her coffee half way up to her mouth.  
  
“I’d never had a fish before!” I laughed, knowing it was a poor defence. “Anyways, needless to say I didn’t rinse it as well as I should have and the next day…well, Flipper took a little trip down the toilet. My dad tried convincing me that it was the way to fishy heaven but he forgot that by 9 I knew Santa and the Easter Bunny were all a lie. I cried for a week.”  
  
“Poor Flipper.” She laughed, finally taking a sip. JJ leaned around the corner, case file in hand.  
  
“We’re ready in the conference room.” Nodding to her, Emily and I followed after her as I continued my story.  
  
“So for my next birthday my parents bought me a book on how to care for my new betta fish.”  
  
“How long did he last?”  
  
“I got a big tank so he actually lived for 5 years. I’ve always had fish as pets, they’re so low maintenance.”  
  
We were the last to enter the room and I took my spot between Emily and Spencer. JJ closed the door, passing out the case files for each of us before picking up the remote. With one click she brought up the picture of a two girls, both around age 16, pretty with brunette hair and smiling faces: the before pictures.  
  
“Arlene Fowler, 15, and Stacy Markham, 16, both from Chamberlain Village, Virginia. Arlene was found two weeks ago by a couple of hikers on a trail, Stacy was found three days ago on the same trail.” With a click the happy faces were replaced with the dead looks and empty eyes. “There were identical markings on the two girls, and local police decided to call us in.”  
  
The pictures were joined by two more, but these were much more horrific than the other two. Not because of any gore or violence, no they were terrifyingly familiar. Both pictures were of the girls’ necks, and raised on their skin like a bad scar was an all-too recognizable symbol. My heart rose in my throat, and I watched as Spencer jumped up and snatched the remote out of JJ’s hand, flicking off the screen before turning to me with worried eyes.  
  
“What the hell Reid?” Morgan said scrutinizing him.  
  
“Turn it back on.” I said quietly. He meekly shook his head, taking a step back as I got to my feet. “Spencer, turn the goddamn screen on!”  
  
He tried to keep the remote from me but I wrestled it out of his hands, turning it back on and pressing the buttons to bring up more crime scene photos. Everything was the same. Everything was exactly the same. I stopped only at the presence of a new image: that of a message carved into one of the girl’s backs.  
  
 _I will destroy my mistake_  
  
My hands fell limp at my sides as I stared at this. Spencer took the opportunity to reach forward and take the remote once more, switching the screen off and calling to me. My eyes were glued onto the now blank screen, and I felt the contents of my stomach restlessly rising up.  
  
“Tasha?”  
  
Without words I turned my back on him, taking deliberate steps out of the conference room. The farther I got the quicker I went, eventually breaking into a run as Spencer came after me, calling my name. Kicking the door open to the washroom, I threw myself into the first stall and collapsed at the base of the toilet, all stomach contents finding their way out of me as I struggled for breath between each heave.  
  
Spencer wandered in, despite the clear fact he was not a female, and hovered behind me as I wiped my mouth. I sat down, curling my legs against my chest and staring straight ahead. He awkwardly sat down beside me, draping an arm across my shoulder.  
  
“It’s okay, we’ll…we’ll find him. I promise. .” I couldn’t bring myself to reassure him I was alright, because I wasn’t. I just sat there for a while, a few tears escaping my eyes, trying not to think about everything fighting its way into my conscious mind. After some time I pulled the corner of my sleeve across my cheeks, drying them to the best of my ability. Getting to my feet, I asked Spencer to go tell Hotchner I needed to talk to him.  
  
He nodded, sprinting away as I took a minute to compose myself in the bathroom mirror. It would be no secret that I was crying, but given the scene that had unfolded in the conference room Hotchner had to know something was wrong. When I was ready I left the sanctuary of the empty washroom, seeing Hotch standing outside of his office waiting for me.  
  
It was odd to see much emotion on his face; his hard expression was something I’d grown to accept as normal. So to see concern on his features took me by surprise. I walked at a normal pace until I stood before him, and he motioned for me to go inside. I did as I was instructed, taking a seat as he closed the door and took a seat before me. He folded his hands and placed them on the desk, hanging us in silence for a few moments.  
  
“What happened out there?” He refused to remove his eyes from me, subjecting me to a constant stare that made me feel like I was under interrogation. With a deep breath, I tried to explain.  
  
“There’s a…um…a sealed folder in my file. From when I was fifteen.”  
  
“Is this something I should be worried about?”  
  
“It’s not—It’s not drugs or anything like that. I…I had it sealed because I didn’t want everyone to know about it and…you know, treat me differently or…”  
  
“Natasha do you know the unsub?” He asked seriously, causing me to panic a little before I finally got myself together. Sitting forward in my chair, I pulled my hair to the side and showed the remnants of a burn mark identical to the ones on Arlene and Stacy.  
  
“Yes.” I leaned back, fixing my eyes on a spot on the wall. “When I was fifteen years old he abducted me and held me captive for four months before I escaped. I’m the mistake. The one that got away.”  
  
He said nothing. I kept my eyes diverted from his and lowered them to the ground, pulling my hair tightly over my neck as if the gesture could remove the scar altogether. Rubbing my head for a moment, I heaved out a sigh and got to my feet.  
  
“I’ve had a profile of sorts going for a few years now, so I’ll let JJ finish and then…well, give my take on things I guess.”  
  
“If you aren’t comfortable telling everyone—”  
  
“I’d rather they hear it from me.”  
  
He nodded, getting to his feet and holding the door open for me. Each step that brought me closer to the conference room fell to the frantic beating of my heart. The rushing blood was audible in my ears and I felt my body go cold as everyone pretended not to stare. I took my place as if nothing had happened and Hotch motioned for JJ to start up again.  
  
With some hesitation she got back into it, listing everything I already knew. He had a type: brunette, young, white. He had a hunting ground: the suburbs. He had a signature: a burn mark on the neck in the shape of the symbol of mars. He had a timeline. When JJ was done she cast a glance at me and sat down.  
  
“Well the dump site’s in a pretty open place; that might mean he’s disorganized.” Derek began. I shook my head feverishly and sighed before starting.  
  
“This guy is organized.” My voice was so much weaker than I’d intended, and the fact that all eyes were on me did not give me much confidence. “He, uh…He calls himself Ares, like the Greek God. He has completely adopted the persona as his own. He’s not from Virginia, he’s from Nevada, and the time between the girls was uncharacteristically short. He used to kidnap girls from suburban areas and hold them for a few months. He believes these girls are vessels of Athena, Goddess of War; and through his rituals he thinks he can exorcize the deity and claim the throne for himself. He is a sadist who might be suffering from a psychotic break and he will not stop until he’s caught.”  
  
After everyone had time to process everything, Emily spoke up: “You said the time he’s holding them for is shorter now, perhaps because of a trigger?”  
  
“No. His ritual takes time. This was quick and sloppy, and the message, that was for us. For me.”  
  
“Did you work this case in Nevada?” JJ asked gently.  
  
“I was this case.” I said with a weak smile. “I was victim number eight.”  
  
The standard silence filled the room and submerged us into a void.  
  
“We don’t take any other cases while this one is open.” Hotch said, collecting his folder from the table to signify the end of the meeting.  
  
“I’ve got a more concrete profile at home, along with a few notebooks’ worth of anything I thought might be useful. Feel free to ask me any questions, alright?” Everyone generally nodded, and I got to my feet, pulling my sweater tightly around my body. “And one more thing, please don’t…you know, treat me like a victim. I don’t need sympathy or sensitivity, it was fifteen years ago.”  
  
“JJ, contact the Las Vegas field office and see if you can get a hold of any of the detectives who worked this case. Reid, start on a geographical profile of all the sites, try to find some sort of pattern. Rossi, Prentiss, contact the relatives of the girls; see if they had similar habits or routines. Morgan, work with Garcia on pulling up any file you can on the case. Check social networking sites, emails, check if there was anything else in common than appearance. Natasha, I’ll escort you home to get what you’ve been working on.”  
  
Everyone went off to complete their assigned tasks as I went down to my desk and pulled on my jacket. My foot tapped incessantly while I waited for Hotch. Emily passed me, offering a smile that I returned weakly. After a minute or so I turned to face Hotch’s office just in time to see Morgan and Rossi leaving it as well. Rossi came down the stairs and stopped at my desk, asking if he could have a word. I nodded, leaning against the desktop and keeping my arms crossed.  
  
“You know, I remember working this case back when I was first in the BAU.”  
  
“First time we ever met.” I nodded.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“I didn’t want you to know me as the girl from the hospital that wouldn’t help the case.”  
  
“No one blamed you, Natasha.” He said honestly, placing a hand on my shoulder. I smiled weakly, nodding for lack of anything to respond with.  
  
Hotchner came down the stairs and I fell into step with him, my arms crossing instinctively as some feeble attempt at security. We took his car, and after we were both settled in and he had a general idea of where he was driving, I voiced my concerns.  
  
“I could have driven myself, you know.”  
  
“Given the current circumstances I don’t think it’s best.” I told him to turn left. “As of today Morgan, Rossi or I will be escorting you home.”  
  
“Hotch, that’s _completely_ unnecessary!” I exclaimed, wide-eyed at the very thought of such an inconvenience. “I can get home by myself, I don’t need a bodyguard.”  
  
“The last time an unsub was targeting our team, one of my agents was shot in her home. She had been brought home by another agent. It’s my job to look out for my team, so I won’t let that happen again.”  
  
There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I shut up and stuck to just giving out directions. If I’d just gotten him back when it had happened, all of this could have been avoided. Everything would be different…


	8. Show and Tell

_"Tragedy is a tool for the living to gain wisdom, not a guide by which to live." – Robert Kennedy_

* * *

The boxes of case files had been sent over from Nevada; they lay like scattered corpses on the table in the conference room. Everyone had come in early today; filled with the same determination everyone at the station had each time another girl went missing. _This time we’ll get the son’a’bitch_. But just like with the officers, their determination would weaken and their hope would falter; and after enough time they would understand. They would come to the same conclusion everyone did, in the end.  
  
JJ and Emily were helping me set up the board, laying out the pictures of each girl while I listed off what I remembered about them. I’d looked over these files time and time again: every name and school picture etched into my brain. I could never forget them, never be ungrateful for what I’d escaped.  
  
“Let’s start with the first girl.” Emily said, marker in hand and ready at the board.  
  
“Laura Melding.” I paused for her to write out the name. “She was taken for four days in January 1989. The 4th to the 8th.” This continued on across two and a half boards until we stopped at Stacy. Emily’s neat writing lined each column beneath the photographs.  
  
1\. Laura Melding –January 4th 1989 – January 8th 1989 [4 days]  
  
2\. Cynthia Fell - January 21st 1991 – January 27th 1991 [6 days; 2 year break]  
  
3\. Trisha Lent – July 15th 1991 – July 22nd 1991 [1 week; 6 month break]  
  
4\. Marla Tram – January 11th 1992 – January 18th 1992 [1 week; 6 month break]  
  
5\. Sophie Golding – July 3rd 1993 – July 24th 1993 [3 weeks; 1 ½ year break]  
  
6\. Rita King – July 12th 1994 – August 12th 1994 [1 month; 1 year break]  
  
7\. Elizabeth Knoll - January 16th 1995 – February 28th 1995 [1 ½ months; 5 month break]  
  
8\. Natasha Reid - June 5th 1995 – September 6th 1995 [4 months; 3 month break]  
  
9\. Arlene Fowler – May 9th 2012 – May 14th 2012 [5 days; 17 year break]  
  
10\. Stacy Markham – May 25th 2012 - May 28th 2012 [3 days; 11 day break]  
  
It was overwhelming to see all these faces again. It never felt fair—that I’d made it out alive and they hadn’t. What made me so special? A cop for a father and perfect timing? Whatever it was, it was unjust. On the whiteboard I started to make a list of the criteria Ares used to pick his victims. Young, brunette, an absent father who mimicked a missing Zeus. And the traits. The Greek Goddess Athena was rational, intelligent, a peacemaker, a defender, and pure. This was how he chose us. I turned to the boxes, rifling through a few and eyeing the familiar files.  
  
“What’re these?” I found a box full of video tapes that had yet to be processed. JJ eyed the box briefly before brushing it off as some kind of evidence that wasn’t logged properly. My heart sunk as I realized there were 8 tapes. One for every girl. A shudder ran through me, a creeping darkness that no amount of human contact or police presence could erase. I had seen these tapes before.  
  
Emily and JJ were focused on the boards, so I deemed it safe to leave the box there for a moment while I took care of things. It was a short walk down the hall to Hotch’s office, even shorter because I most certainly did not want to talk about the tapes. I knew, though, that what I would ask was a huge leap of faith on everyone else’s part. There had to be something given in return. Peeking my head in the door, I knocked twice and he looked up from his desk.  
  
“Do you have a minute?”  
  
“Certainly.” He motioned to the chair across his desk. I quietly closed the door behind me, my fingers clutching at the ends of my sleeves as I took a seat. He gave me his full attention and waited patiently as I summoned the courage to speak.  
  
“There’s um…There’s a box of video tapes that came in from Nevada.”  
  
“JJ said she’ll get to them as soon as they’re done the—”  
  
“Ares filmed us, Hotch.” I blurted out, immediately casting my eyes down. “He had this…ritual he did and he filmed it every time. I’ve seen each of those tapes at least six times each, everything is exactly the same except for with Marla, the fourth girl. She was epileptic and had too many seizures so he got rid of her quicker. I can tell you anything you need to know about the tapes, just…I’d—please don’t ask anyone to watch them. For the girls’ sake.”  
  
He balanced the options in his head, eyes resting on mine. After a moment he asked if I was sure there was nothing I might have forgotten, that the tiniest details help, etcetera. It was time for the bargaining chip. I took a determined breath and offered, in exchange for my taking the tapes, a personal recount of everything that happened. In place of video proof: a first-hand account.  
  
“Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”  
  
“Just call everyone to the conference room and I’ll start from the top.”  
  
“It isn’t necessary for everyone to be there.”  
  
“It’s fine, Hotch.” I lied. It was so far from fine. It was so off from any distant relation of a comfort zone. “That way we’re all on the same page.”  
  
I smiled weakly and got to my feet, taking quiet steps out of the office and back to the conference room as Hotch rounded everyone up. At least Penelope would be spared. When Spencer walked in I had half the mind to make him the exception, force him to wait outside as far from me as possible—but he would never stand for it. Everyone came in and took a seat as I pulled the box with the tapes close to me. No one would ever see them suffer again. I left it to Hotchner to relay our brief discussion to the others, and I said simply that it would probably work better if someone walked me through it with a cognitive interview. Derek volunteered and I was silently thankful it was him. He pulled up a chair in front of me as the others looked on wearily. I had to block out their existence: it was bad enough having to tell Derek—even worse with Spencer in the room.  
  
“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I took my seat across from Derek, pretending that the whole team wasn’t waiting by with their pencils and notepads.  
  
“A deal is a deal.” I couldn’t let them watch the tapes. Those girls had suffered enough already, had their last moments seen by too many eyes in Nevada. If all I needed to do to stop it happening again was relive my time, it was a fair trade off. Shifting backwards, I tried to get as comfortable as possible. “But Derek…I haven’t thought about this stuff for a long time. I might get lost in there.”  
  
“I gotcha, girl.” With a final nod he began. “Alright now close your eyes. I want you to think back to the day you were kidnapped. What did it smell like? What did you hear?”  
  
It had been years since I’d rifled through this part of my memory. I’d covered it up with so many layers of self-defence mechanisms that at first I couldn’t remember anything at all. But it came, in time.  
  
“Someone’s got the barbeque on. I can smell it from down the street. The Royce’s sprinkler is on; it always is when I walk home. I try to keep my steps in time with every other tick of it.”  
  
“Good. Now look around, what do you see?” It was as if a dam had been opened; a plethora of sensory information was flooding my memory. I was fifteen again, back on my street. My house behind me, Spencer’s a short ways ahead. My destination.  
  
“There’s a Jehovah’s witness knocking on someone’s door. A squirrel runs across the road. I think about Spencer’s chess match and imagine the faces of the people he’s beating. I think about the telescope he’s going to buy when he wins. Mr. Adamson waves to me as I walk up the lawn to my house—he gets his mail and closes the door.”  
  
“Is there anyone or anything else that looks out of place?”  
  
“No, I walk up the stairs and—wait, no I see a—a car reflected in the window. It’s…it’s blue. A four-door sedan. I ignore it and I take off my backpack to get my keys. I hear it now—why didn’t I remember before?”  
  
“Hear what?”  
  
“The doors—I hear two open and close—car doors. By the time I straighten up I see his f-face in the glass. Oh God…he’s coming up the lawn with a boy—the boy, Phobos. He’s smiling at me but I can’t—I can’t turn around, I’m so scared. Oh God, he’s right here. I try to scream but he covers my mouth and they’re carrying me—he has a knife to my throat—no, a needle. He gives me something. He’s going to kill me—he’s going to _kill_ me.”  
  
“Tash, I’m right here. He can’t get you.” I feel Derek’s hands grip mine but they do nothing to pierce through the memory.  
  
“They throw me in the back seat with the other boy—Deimos—he keeps me pinned down against the seat. I’m screaming—I call for Spencer but he isn’t there and Aunt Di can’t hear me and Ares tells Deimos to shut me up and he drives fast and then slow and then everything goes black.”  
  
“Okay. Let’s take a break.” Derek said calmly. I shook my head, keeping my eyes shut and trying to remember every detail. With a deep breath, I began to explain to the team everything that happened to me and the other girls.  
  
After the car I wake up in a basement: it has one window and is divided by a barred wall, like that of a prison cell. Everything is dark and gray and cold and unforgiving. There is a toilet in the corner, a mattress nailed into the cement floor on all corners. But most of all: it is quiet. There are no sounds of passing cars or distant ambulances or a cityscape. There are crickets and the sound of wind blowing through leaves and the occasional snap of a twig. Wherever I am, it is secluded. A cabin in the woods, perhaps. I am alone. A door slams off to the left and someone comes down the stairs: Ares. He holds a cattle brander in one hand, the end of it red hot, and a key in the other. He opens the cell door and I scramble into the corner, begging, pleading for him to let me go. He tells me to shut up and pulls my hair away from my neck before pressing the brander against my skin. I scream and wail. When he finishes, he calls me Athena and tells me to accept my fate.  
  
Phobos and Deimos take turns keeping watch. They are in charge of giving me food and water twice a day. They are keeping me alive for a reason: the ritual. For the days leading up to the full moon Ares will come downstairs and put a tape on the VCR where I can see it. He glares at me and takes a seat, leaning forward to watch the video. It is the tape of Laura Melding, victim number one, and her torture. He points out his own mistakes to me, acting as if I had seen this all before. He thinks I am Athena and that I was in all of the girls before: my vessels, he calls them. He is perfecting the method of expelling me from my vessel to properly kill me.  
  
Every fourth day he marks me again: the circle with an arrow at the top. The symbol of Ares or Mars or Male or whatever. It is pressed into my skin again and again so it has no chance of fading away. But it is every full moon that he does his ritual. Phobos sets up the camera. I am told to change into a Greek dress. Ares rapes me. He ties me to an old gurney and hooks me up with needles and tubes. He drains me of so much blood. He drugs me with something, I don’t know what, but I stay awake despite my fatigue. He beats me, over and over, telling me that the throne is his. That it was always his. He asks if I understand and I say yes. He calls me a liar and beats me again. When he’s finished he asks if I’m ready to give up the throne and I say yes. I beg for him to stop. He does. He leaves me for Deimos to clean up and expresses his disappointment that I choose to lie to him. He needs me to be pure before he can expel me.  
  
“Five days after the fourth ritual Ares left and Phobos came into the cell.” I’d managed to open my eyes again, feeling horribly nauseous at the memories and my own hands trembling in Derek’s grasp. “He wasn’t supposed to. But for the time I was there I worked one of the mattress nails out of the ground and so when he tried to rape me I stabbed him in the chest. Deimos was there, but he didn’t try to stop me when I ran out. I got out of the house and ran until my feet bled and I reached a house on the outskirts of Reno. The family let me in and called the police.”  
  
Of course, there was nothing any of them could say. The worst, though, was Spencer. I’d never wanted him to hear the whole story; he’d seen me so fractured when it happened. I knew he blamed himself, but I didn’t. I’d been targeted—he would’ve gotten me sooner or later. Taking a deep breath in, I excused myself to get some air. At first I was going to just step outside, but my feet found their way into the elevator and I decided to go up to the roof.  
  
I wormed my way around the big vents and pipes and air ducts that decorated the rooftop. My shoes crunched against the dirt on the ground. When I got to the edge I paused, looking down. Eleven storeys up—the fall would kill me. Maybe things would be better if I just jumped. How many more girls would he kill before he tried to get me? As much as I had faith in the team, I knew Ares. This demon, this shadow that followed me wherever I went: always a step ahead. Always ready for my next move. He wouldn’t be caught, not by the police or the FBI or anyone. He would never stop.  
  
The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I stepped up onto the ledge, the ground so far away but such a fitting place to end: where I should have been starting anew. He was probably watching me right now, this very second. An anxious feeling swarmed in my stomach as I leaned forward. Ares didn’t hesitate to waste two more girls to get my attention: what would happen when that wasn’t enough anymore? Who would he go after then—the team? Spencer? No, I wouldn’t stand for it. I lifted one foot off the ledge, my heart racing as every bit of fear from my captivity found its way into me once more. I couldn’t go through this all again, not when I had lulled myself into a sense of relative security. Just push off with the other foot, that’s all it would take.  
  
I had been so focused on my own thoughts that I didn’t even hear him behind me, but in a heartbeat I was ripped from the ledge and held down despite my thrashing. It took a minute for me to stop screaming, to actually open my eyes and realize it wasn’t Ares but Spencer. When the panic left me he eased up and helped me to my feet. There was desperation in his eyes and I began to think about how stupid of an idea suicide was. How could I leave Spence behind? I sighed, pulling him into a hug and apologizing. Tears threatened to erupt but I held them back. He had seen me cry one too many times.  
  
This little boy who had been both parent and child and friend to me in my darkest times. When both our fathers were gone, we were there for each other. When our mothers fell victim to their illnesses of the mind—Dianna to schizophrenia and Elise to depression, one quelled with sleep and the other with drink—we were there to raise each other. The mutually dependent Reids. This was why I couldn’t lose him: because he had taken the place of everyone I’d lost, a stand in for the childhood taken from me. I had adapted to losing everything else at the cost of him being a surrogate for it all. If Spencer was gone, I lost everything.  
  
“I never should have gone to that chess match.” He said quietly. I held him tighter. Skinny little Spencer Reid: the boy genius with a heart of gold. I wanted to tell him to shut up, tell him how stupid it was to think such a thing and that nothing could have prevented what happened. But I knew if I opened my mouth I would definitely cry. I had to be strong, I had to protect Spencer. There was no other option. I had to keep him safe from the demon at my heels.  
  
He was all I had left in the world.


	9. Lullaby

_"The soul is healed by being with children." – English Proverb_

* * *

It was a little disappointing that the first time I’d ever gone to Los Angeles was on a case. And a curious one, at that. We’d been called in to consult on a series of odd murders in the city. Three women had been dumped all over the city, usually wrapped in plastic or some equivalent. The odd part was they’d all officially died from drowning. What was stranger was each one of them had a single square of flesh missing from the bottom of their feet—an exact two by two inch square.  
  
The Medical Examiner explained to us that although drowning was the COD the bodies were lacking certain tell-tale signs of it. Tests were run which led to the knowledge that the three women had been submerged alive in methanol, a highly toxic alcohol that was absorbed through their skin. We knew that chloroform was being used to subdue the women prior to their kidnapping, but there were burns around their nostril and mouth that suggested it wasn’t administered in the usual cloth-to-face mode, but rather inhaled in a sort of aerosol form.  
  
All we knew was that the unsub was using an unregistered taxi to take his victims—but we still didn’t know why or how he picked his victims. The clock started ticking even faster when the LAPD alerted us that another woman was just reported missing.  
  
Spencer was sitting cross-legged on the table, one hand pressed against his chin as he studied the crime scene photos. He rubbed his eyes a few times and stifled a yawn before I clued in to what I was seeing. Abruptly I got to my feet, crossing over to him quickly and setting the rest of the team on alert. Reaching out, I tilted his head up so I could see his face better. There were circles under his eyes darker than his coffee that could only mean one thing.  
  
“Jesus Christ Spencer, how much sleep have you been getting lately?” I asked as he wiggled out of my grasp, avoiding my question. I rubbed my forehead and sighed, knowing the answer to the question I was about to ask. “Please tell me you haven’t been working on Ares.”  
  
“He’s not just going to give himself up.” He mumbled, going back to the photos as I crossed my arms over my chest.  
  
“Spence…”  
  
“Don’t act like this isn’t what you did for the past decade.” He snapped, struggling to keep his voice low. “You told me not to think about it again and now he’s back. I should have been there so it didn’t happen in the first place.”  
  
“This isn’t—”  
  
“And you know what?” He raised his voice, directing his words to the others. “I don’t really understand why we’re working this case at all instead of trying to find him. Because I’m pretty sure the last time someone on this team was being targeted, you all were doing everything possible to catch him.”  
  
“Spencer!” I hissed, staring at him wide eyed. The anger he was exhibiting was so misplaced, so unorthodox. I tugged at his arm, pulling him up. “Take a walk.”  
  
Everyone was watching as we left the room and I didn’t blame them—it was quite the outburst, especially from Spencer. I pushed him through the station until we found an unoccupied room. He sat down at my request, immediately pulling at the edges of his nails. Heaving out a sigh I took a seat across from him, feeling like a mother begrudgingly scolding her child.  
  
“Look, you heard Hotch when I told everyone. He said that Ares was all anyone was supposed to be working on. Where did that get us? A whole host of FBI agents, evidence from ten cases, hell you even have a first-hand witness and we’ve got absolutely nothing. There was nothing from the cabin and he’s living underground or working with aliases or something. Spencer, the point is it doesn’t make sense for other cases to go unsolved just because mine is. I asked for us to take this case.”  
  
“If you just let us keep working, we might’ve found something Tash.”  
  
“Spence…I think you know deep down that we won’t. We haven’t for all these years—I can’t imagine you actually listened to me when I told you to leave it alone. All we’ve got are dead ends. We’ll just have to wait until he makes a move.”  
  
“What am I supposed to do if his next move is your last?” He asked very quietly, looking up at me for the first time. I couldn’t pretend the possibility wasn’t something I’d thought about, but to hear it from him was something else entirely. I swallowed hard and ignored the watering of my eyes. Reaching out, I took his hand in mine.  
  
“I’m not going to leave you, Spencer.” He nodded for lack of either of us being able to say anything more. We both knew that it wasn’t a guarantee, that I could very well die any time Ares saw fit. But it was all I could do. All I could give him until Ares was behind bars or dead.  
  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-  
  
My phone buzzed on the coffee table, inching closer to the edge with every ring until I snatched it up. Half of me expected it to be Spencer—the part of me that always wanted to hear his voice to know he was safe and sound. But 10 pm on a Friday night and it was Hotch’s name on the display. Flipping it open I greeted him with confusion.  
  
“Is everything alright?” I was waiting for him to tell me they’d found Ares or gotten closer to him or gotten within a thousand mile radius of being remotely nearer to getting him. Anything.  
  
“Yeah, everything’s fine…I’m sorry, I know it’s late and all.”  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
“This is going to sound like an odd request but it’s my weekend with Jack and he’s having trouble sleeping and…well, he asked for you.”  
  
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion and for a moment I thought he was joking. Jack had only met me once, and he preferred my company over his father’s? No, that wasn’t it. It was just that his Aunt wasn’t there and I was the nearest familiar female presence.  
  
“Oh,” I stammered out eventually. “Yeah, uh, sure—I’ll be right over.”  
  
I knew that I looked like absolute shit and a trip past the mirror wasn’t necessary to reinforce that fact, but I wasn’t going out, I was going to tuck a little kid into bed. Maybe read him a story or something, I saw no good reason to change anything. When I got to Hotchner’s I was careful to knock instead of ring the bell in case Jack had managed to fall asleep on his own. But the door opened and Aaron looked at me with a mixture of laughter and apology.  
  
“I’m sorry, I’ll be sure this won’t happen again.” He said as I stepped into the house and slipped my shoes off. I brushed the apology off and shook my head.  
  
“You act like I actually have a social life, Hotch.” I teased. “It’s no problem, really.”  
  
“I owe you.”  
  
“You really don’t.” I promised. Instead I ascended the stairs and walked the path to Jack’s bedroom where I’d tucked him in once before. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, legs swinging and hands folded in his lap. I knocked twice on the door before wandering to where he sat and crouching before him. “Hey Superman. What’s up?”  
  
“I can’t sleep.” He frowned, eyes glued to the carpet as he fiddled with a crease in his blanket. “Can you sing me a lullaby?”  
  
“Sure I can, sweetie. Let’s get you tucked in first, alright?” He nodded, compliantly leaning backwards and letting me pull the blankets up around him. I was making myself comfortable on the floor but he asked me to lay beside him, so I clambered cautiously up onto the small bed. Even curled up my feet extended off the end.  
  
He curled up against me and closed his eyes as I began to brush back his sandy blonde hair. It took me a moment to recall the matching words and melody to the lullaby that my mother used to sing to me when I was a child. A song about happy things, calm things, with a slow tempo that could cure any night-time woe and make even the darkest of places light. I sang to this poor child who had lost his mother at such a young age, who had his innocence stolen before he even knew what it was.  
  
When the song ended and he looked to be asleep I turned onto my back so that I could get up, but he mumbled some sleep-ridden incoherent sentence and lay his head on my chest. I sighed with the knowledge that there would be no escaping until he was deep in slumber. And although it was only half-past ten, although the bed was three sizes too small, and although I was far from home, I dozed off with the sleeping child in my arms.  
  
When I woke, I was filled with the heaviness of sleep and a lingering happiness that must’ve meant I’d had a happy dream: only I couldn’t remember it. It took me a bit to shed the grogginess and realize that this wasn’t my house or my bed and that I’d fallen asleep on what was supposed to be tuck-in duty. I turned to the sleeping boy, who was now off of my body and curled up on his own. Quickly and quietly I got to my feet, backing out of the room and gently closing the door behind me. I checked my phone as I went downstairs, my eyes growing wide as the clock read 2 in the morning. Had I really been out that long?  
  
“Jesus, I’m so sorry.” I heaved out as I got down to the living room. Hotch was still up scribbling away at some case files. “I didn’t think I was that tired, you should have woken me.”  
  
“It’s fine,” He laughed as I supressed a yawn. “You looked exhausted and he looked pretty comfortable.”  
  
“Yeah, I sang him a lullaby and he was knocked right out.” I explained as I pulled on my shoes and fished my keys out of my pocket. Me driving home technically went against the whole always-be-escorted-home deal but it was too late to call anyone else and Hotch had a kid to look after.  
  
“Hey—Is Reid okay?” He asked, catching me off guard. I hesitated for a moment before responding.  
  
“He’s just…” I tried to find out how to phrase it properly, delving my hands into my pockets. “I don’t know if I made it clear, but Spence and I walked home together every day. My mom’s job kept her till 6 so I’d always stay with him and Aunt Di until my mom got home from work. He’d asked his mom if he could compete in this chess tournament—a big league thing against these college kids right around the time we got out of school—and of course he wasn’t allowed to. But I told him he could go and I’d cover for him, saying he was still at school or something. So he wasn’t there to walk with me the day I got…taken. He just really beats himself up over it, even though I don’t. Probably because I don’t.”  
  
“And what about you?”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“Would you prefer to have us all working the case?” He asked seriously, causing me to laugh.  
  
“I think it’s clear we all want to catch him, but I can’t be selfish. We aren’t going to get anywhere by staring at a bunch of dead ends. I’m fine, Hotch. I promise.”  
  
“Alright…” He got to his feet and approached the door, unlocking it for me. “Thanks again for coming over, I really appreciate it.”  
  
“Anytime, Bossman.” I offered a smile before wishing him a good weekend and turning to leave. He called me back at the last minute but hesitated, as if rethinking what he was about to say.  
  
“Just…Call me when you get home so I know you’re safe.” He said with sudden seriousness. It caught me off guard, but I nodded once and got into my car. It was a nice feeling, knowing someone cared enough whether you lived or died to tell you to your face. When I pulled into my building’s parking lot I had a moment of panic when I thought I saw someone move behind a car, but I pulled myself together and went inside. When all the lights had been turned on and I did my own sweep the phone came out.  
  
“I’m safe, sound, and ready to sleep.” I reported, going around shutting off all the unneeded lights and retreating into my room.  
  
“Alright, I’ll see you Monday—and thanks again.”  
  
“You need to stop thanking me for silly things, Hotch.” I asserted before we exchanged goodbyes and I crawled into bed. I hadn’t exactly lied when I said that I was fine—it was just that I’d been fine for nearly two decades. Fine for me included a deep rooted and perpetually present fear of when Ares would show himself again. Now that he finally made his presence known I didn’t know if I felt better or worse that my fears had finally come true. I just knew that the fear meant I was, for the moment, still alive.


	10. Surprise

  
  


_"Nothing is permanent in this wicked world. Not even our troubles." – Charles Chaplin_

* * *

With a low, guttural sound the elevator doors parted: it had stopped a foot below the level, leaving a sizable gap from the elevator floor to the carpeted hallway above. A sigh escaped my lips and I climbed onto the ledge. As I passed the different doors I could hear faint signs of life: a bass speaker booming, a muffled conversation, the clanging of pots and pans. A golden-plated 2 and 4 glimmered in the light of the hallway, welcoming me home. I got through the locks, taking a step into the half-light and dropping my bag.  
  
There was a sudden flash of light and while I shielded myself from it as a chorus of ‘Surprise!’ was bellowed forth from the living room. My feet were planted to the floor as I stood dumbfounded in the doorway. The whole team was there, banners and ribbons and balloons scattered throughout the place and taped perfectly to ceilings and walls.  
  
Spencer came up to me; a wild grin plastered on his face at the sight of my shock as I closed the door. Pulling him in for a well-deserved hug, he wished me a happy birthday.  
  
“You guys are crazy.” I mumbled as I got a chorus of hugs and well wishes from the rest of the team. After I thanked everyone for coming I excused myself to change into something more appropriate, seeing as they had set the dress code a little fancier than work-wear.  
  
The dress I picked out was neutral and form fitting, ending just above the knee with a drooping front. There were black accents on the side that went in; the back of it covered in lace. With a quick touch-up to my hair and makeup I rushed back out to spend time with everyone. Although parties were stressful events—especially when you had no idea you were having one—I started going through my head and making a note of what I would start cooking.  
  
“Tell me one of you brought wine, because I am all out.” Re-entering the main area, three hands rose up with bottles ready to be emptied. Derek, JJ and Rossi followed me into the kitchen as I got out 8 glasses and a cork opener. Derek began opening the bottles as I fluttered around from cupboard to cupboard trying to gather things I would need.  
  
“Slow down!” Emily laughed as she grabbed a glass for herself. “You don’t need to worry about cooking anything, we all brought stuff.”  
  
Halting my frenzy, she directed my attention to the dishes of food laid out on my coffee table. I was speechless.  
  
“Has anyone ever told you guys that you’re the best people ever?”  
  
“Every day, beautiful.” Penelope winked.  
  
“I hope it’s okay, we put some stuff in the fridge.” Emily said as she began to wag a finger at me. “I’m sure I can figure out how to work the oven so you are officially off cooking duty, alright?”  
  
“No, I can help with—”  
  
“Out!” She nudged me out of the kitchen entirely, but not before putting a full glass into my hands. If she was insisting, I was more than happy to obey. Crossing the room to my stereo system, I began to shuffle through my music trying to find something fitting.  
  
“Derek, come help.” I whined while scanning the cds.  
  
“Alright, let’s see what you got girl.” He placed his glass atop the stereo and crouched to survey my alphabetized collection. “Damn, someone’s organized.”  
  
“Do _not_ start profiling me, Morgan.” I delivered a swift nudge to his ribs in response to his laugh.  
  
“I gotta go with my man MJ.” He pulled out Michael Jackson’s _HIStory_ , sliding the cd in and turning up the volume. _Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough_ was the first track that came on, and he turned to me with a sly smile, taking the drink out of my hand and putting it beside his on the stereo. I asked what he was doing as he held up his hands for me to take and led me into a dance. We sang the lyrics aloud, horrible as we were, but a smile wormed its way onto my face that I just couldn’t shake.  
  
“Up! Everyone up! Em, out of the kitchen, come dance!” I called as Derek dipped me, the sight of her laughing at me upside down sending me into a fit of giggles. Bringing me up, he let me go as we went to round up everyone else. He moved the coffee table out of the way, pulling up Penelope as JJ got Reid to join her. David got up as Emily came to join the congregation. Hotch was still sitting off to the side, and I gave him a challenging look. “You too, Bossman.”  
  
“I’d rather not.” He meant to take a sip of his wine but I took the glass from his hands, setting it down on a table and grabbing his hands to pull him up.  
  
“Uh-uh. There is no get out of jail free card, Hotch. It’s my birthday. Today I have seniority; and I’m pulling rank.” He smiled despite himself and gave in to my ludicrous demands.  
  
All eight of us moved to the beat in the middle of my living room, doing a fairly good job at not bumping into one another considering our atrocious dancing skills. We were much better profilers than dancers—except, of course, Derek. My hands were laced with Hotch’s as we did as close to a dance as we could get, laughing all the while at how bad it was. It was unorthodox, but in a pleasant way. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a side of everyone like this before; it humanized them all. They weren’t just tunnel-vision federal agents; they were a group of great friends throwing a party when it was needed most.  
  
Everything, the entire beautiful façade of the night, was torn away with three solid knocks on the door. I dropped my hands, turning my attention to the door as my heart rate elevated. Such a tiny little noise; and I had not been the only one to notice. All the laughter and singing faded away as eyes shifted from the door to me.  
  
“Are you expecting someone?” Hotch asked, all traces of Aaron Hotchner replaced by an SSA profiler.  
  
“No…” I said quietly, willing my feet forward. With a gulp, I smiled and said “It’s probably the neighbours telling me to ‘turn the racket down.’”  
  
Everyone tried to recreate the atmosphere that had been built up, but it was only half-alive—its weak heart beat fluttering with every step I took towards the door. With all of my might I tried to keep my mind from wandering to the painfully obvious: it could be Ares. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was that ‘what ifs’ could rob you of a normal life if you let them. So I reached forward, unlocked the door and opened it a creak. The face waiting to greet me might have been just as unwelcome as that of a serial killer.  
  
His eyes, always the first thing to be noticed, were just as blue as I’d remembered them. His angled features, cheek bones so defined I could cut myself touching them, dark hair falling around his face in perfectly effortless waves—and a smile that could kill. He hadn’t given up on looking sharp at all, donning a freshly pressed suit with his typical two top buttons undone look. Luke Evans, the British boy from Yorkshire that swept me off my feet in record time.  
  
“Happy birthday, beautiful!” He chimed, producing a bouquet of flowers and a wrapped present from behind his back. With wide eyes, I cast a glance back at the team as if to tell them all was okay, before slipping outside and leaving the door open just a crack. Luke stood before me with a smile, gifts extended towards me as I struggled to find words to express myself.  
  
“What are you doing here?” My voice was so much weaker than I had intended, and he picked up on it; located a fragile spot and planned his attack. He took my hands, halting their fidgeting, and planted the gifts in my grasp. They felt wrongly heavy in my grip, as if they were 10 pound weights and not flowers and a gift box.  
  
“Whaddya mean, sweet-cheeks? It’s your birthday, I’m here to see you o’course.” He winked, leaning on the door frame and getting unbearably close. “Sounds like you already got a party goin’ there, love, and I must say I’m quite offended I didn’t get an invite. But I’m here now, so—”  
  
“Don’t,” I began as he moved to go in. “Luke…How did you even find me?”  
  
“What’re you hiding from me or somethin’?” He shrugged. “Bloke down the street told me you’d left so I looked you up. ‘S’Not that hard.”  
  
“You…You can’t just show up like this after all these years and expect everything to be okay.” With each word, I began to find pieces of my confidence again.  
  
“Look babe, I said I’m sorry and I meant it, alright? Blimey, whaddya want me to do, beg? Jus’ lemme in and we can talk about it.”  
  
“ _No!_ ” I yelled much louder than I’d meant to, going so far as to shove him back. Anger took over his features.  
  
“Are you havin’ a laugh?” He began to pace a bit, never taking his eyes off me as I winced at his tone. There was a creak and I realized the door was being opened. Hotch stood there, looking from me to my hands to Luke.  
  
“Is there a problem here?” Hotch asked quietly, not removing his gaze from Luke.  
  
“This is the secret, then? New boyfriend and all?”  
  
“Yeah.” I said defiantly, shoving the gifts back into his grasp and crossing my arms over my chest. “So I’d like you to leave.”  
  
“You bloody Americans, all the fookin’ same.”  
  
“She asked you to leave.” There was an unmistakable authority in his voice that even Luke couldn’t ignore.  
  
“Well alright then.” He huffed, throwing the gifts at my feet and storming off to the elevator, running his hand aggressively through his hair as Hotch picked up the discarded items and handed them to me. I mumbled a ‘thanks’ and went back inside, ignoring the fact that clearly an explanation was wanted by everyone. I threw the flowers and gift in the trash, announcing it was no one important and excusing myself.  
  
The bedroom door shut quietly behind me, muffling the music and giving me a moment of peace. Sitting down on the edge of my bed, it groaned in protest and sunk down. I placed my head in my hands, taking deep breaths and failing horribly at blocking the memories. The pier, the Eiffel tower, the candlelit dinner and fancy champagne…It was an A way to ruin my elated mood.  
  
“Natasha?” Two quiet knocks followed the call of my name. Emily. I told her to come in, trying to betray the stress rising inside of me. She offered a sympathetic smile and sat down beside me. “Is everything okay?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah…just…People showing up that shouldn’t. Stupid, stupid people.”  
  
“How long were you together?” The completely accurate intuition was perhaps why I got along so well with Emily.  
  
“We were together for two years…Things happened, and one night he left me with no explanation. I hadn’t seen him since.”  
  
“How’s this,” She said after a moment. “You give Garcia his name and she can probably find a way to wipe his computer or phone or something. Sound good?”  
  
“Something tells me that might qualify as ‘improper use of company resources.’” I laughed, getting to my feet and smoothing out my dress. Emily hugged me and took my hand, leading me back to my party.  
  
“C’mon. Forget about him. Let’s go party.”  
  
When we went back out everyone was courteous enough to pretend like nothing had happened—everyone, of course, except for Spencer; who was never very good at hiding his confusion in social situations. I took a seat on the couch between Penelope and Spencer, JJ going to the kitchen to help Emily.  
  
“Natasha, where do you keep the plates?” JJ called to me.  
  
“Closest cupboard to the fridge.” Spencer and I said in unison, earning weird looks from the others.  
  
“She’s had a place for everything since college.” He shrugged before turning to me. “So who was at the door?”  
  
“Reid—” Derek hissed, slapping his arm.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do you…Do you remember Luke?” It was only at this that he seemed to understand the caution with which he should’ve breached the topic. With a single nod I figured I didn’t have to explain any further.  
  
“Is this Parnassus?” David asked, standing in front of the picture that I hung next to my much-too-full bookshelf.  
  
“Yeah, Andrea Mantegna. My dad was a big art collector; it kind of rubbed off on me.”  
  
At this, everyone lapsed back into their own conversations. After the Luke moment things went back to normal, JJ helping Emily get the food ready and setting it up on the breakfast bar in a sort of buffet. Emily tried to break out the paper plates but I assured her that my dishwasher was ready to be put to good use. With Derek in the house the food did not last long, and I made no effort to hold back on the jokes about his bottomless-pit of a stomach.  
  
After dinner I made sure to spend my time equally with everyone to the best of my ability. Things seemed to be going well—although, I didn’t know why I really cared. I hadn’t planned the party and it was _for_ me, so there was really no reason for me to be worrying. Regardless, I was always the first to get up when a CD was finished, having picked a selection of music that would probably last until tomorrow. When the night grew later Emily disappeared with Penelope in the kitchen, and at some cue that I wasn’t privy to everyone got up and started motioning me to the kitchen.  
  
“Please tell me you didn’t.” Pressing my hands over my mouth I stayed put, staring at the lit candles in the shape of a 3 and 2 sticking out of the cake sitting on the dining room table. Spencer killed the lights and joined the others as they all stood around the table, waiting for me. “You _guys_.”  
  
“T-Bird, do not make me carry you over. I will if I have to.” Derek stood with his arms crossed giving me a look. I narrowed my eyes and shook my head at his ridiculous proposal, waiting for my feet to be ready to lead me over. He was impatient, though, and so as the team began a chorus of Happy Birthday he came right at me and scooped me up.  
  
“Put me down, you animal!” I squealed as he carried me over and set me down at in front of the cake. I delivered a swift punch to his arm as he laughed it off, joining in the last bit of the song. When they were done I paused for a moment, held my hair back from the flames and blew out the candles.  
  
Of course, I only had one wish.  
  
The fire turned to smoke, dancing spirals into the air until they disappeared entirely. Everyone applauded in the darkness for a moment, but when the lights came back on there was a collection of gift bags and boxes sitting in place of the cake. I groaned, backing away from the table and covering my eyes.  
  
“You are out of your minds!”  
  
“Open ours first!” Penelope said excitedly, handing me two gift bags and staring with a giant smile. “It’s from us girls.”  
  
The first bag was smaller and had a necklace-earring-bracelet set that looked far more expensive than I was comfortable accepting. Penelope shushed my protest and helped me get everything on, musing at me. The second bag held some ridiculously intoxicating perfume that I wasted no time in putting on.  
  
“You can thank the three very attractive boys at the mall that day for telling us this one smelled the best.” She explained as I laughed. Derek shifted the gift box towards me and I sighed, a stupid smile on my face.  
  
“And this is from your boys.”  
  
I ripped the paper off, crunching it into a ball and sliding my nails along the edges of the box to cut any tape. Opening it, I had to pull away all the tissue paper before I finally got to the gift. When I did my eyes went wide and I looked at Derek.  
  
“You didn’t.” I breathed, pulling out the leather jacket that was almost identical to the one I used to wear. I held my hand to my mouth for a minute before he took it from my hands and helped me into it.  
  
“The finest Italian leather I could get my hands onto.” Rossi promised, nodding to me as I bit back tears.  
  
“And T-Bird is back.” Derek mused as I pulled him in for a hug. I moved around the room, shamelessly throwing my arms around them all and trying to fathom how my heart could be so swollen with emotion.  
  
“This was completely unnecessary, but thank you all so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.”


	11. Doubt

_"And yet to every bad there's a worse." – Thomas Hardy_

* * *

  
The team had been called in to Charleston, South Carolina to work a case of spree killings that were devastating the city’s Spring Festival. The event was a week-long thing with something happening in a different place in the city each day. Each killing had been brutal and showed a lot of mob mentality influence which meant that whatever group we were dealing with—most likely a triad—had a very angry alpha and generally outcast subordinates. We worked the profile but were running low on time. Hotchner made the call that we would canvas the day’s event to try and find them simply by following their habits. It was a concert today, with all proceeds going to a local children’s hospital.  
  
We spread out, encircling the crowd as best as we could. There was already a police presence so I doubted that anyone was paying much attention to us. Except, of course, the unsubs. They were somewhere in this mass of people, hidden in plain sight. It would be better for everyone if we caught them all, but if we managed to get a hold of even the submissive members then we’d be able to make them turn on their alphas. Every now and again I caught a glimpse of either a cop or the team, but no suspicious people. Or rather, no one that fit the profile. The DJ’s voice boomed over the crowds, an incoherent blur of riling words. One word caught my attention, though, and pulled me from my focus.  
  
“Now I’ve got a very special shout out to deliver, is there an Athena with us in today? Man I didn’t know people still gave their kids these weird names—oh shit the mic, uh, sorry Athena. Make yourself known!”  
  
My heart rose to my throat and I rapidly scanned the area for any sign of him. Already Rossi and Hotch were spewing commands in my earpiece for me to stay where I was. I had no problem doing that, I just wanted to make sure everyone else knew to be careful as well.  
  
“Spencer?” I waited a few seconds before pulling the mic close to my mouth again. “Someone please tell me you’ve got eyes on Spence.”  
  
“I’ve got him, Tash.” Emily said. “I think he’s talking to a witness.”  
  
“Atheeeenaaaa?” The DJ sang. “I’ve got a message from your boy, he said to tell you that he’s always going to be looking out for your friends and that he’ll see you soon. C’mon, girl, we don’t got all day!”  
  
It didn’t matter that Rossi was moving towards me through the crowd, it didn’t matter that I’d been told to stay put, it didn’t matter that Spencer was probably out of his line of fire: Ares “looking out” for my friends meant he could take them all out right now. This was the problem with having a heart: there was always something to use against you. You always have something to lose. I took a breath, found a bench and climbed onto it.  
  
“There she is!” All the heads turned to face me, the white FBI emblem in plain view. I used the time to search the crowd, leaving my mic open so I could speak freely in case I noticed anyone.  
  
“Natasha, get down!” Hotch ordered, but I stayed put. There were two people moving towards me in the crowd—Rossi and some kid, no older than sixteen. However, there were three backing away from the crowd. The sleeves of their sweaters looked lumpy as if they had weapons concealed and their eyes were glued to my vest.  
  
“Prentiss, Morgan, 8:00. Blue and black sweaters, heading east. I think it’s them.”  
  
“T-Bird get off the damn bench!” Morgan growled as he and Emily began to circle around to cut off the suspects. The kid got to me before Rossi, handing me a slip of paper. Rossi was quick to place his gun against his side, commanding him not to move. I could see Spencer looking at someone in the crowd and slowly began to walk over to them. My heart began to race as I jumped off the bench.  
  
“Rossi, the kid isn’t anyone I remember, he’s just a messenger.” I left him to deal with the kid, trying to push through the people—a nearly impossible feat.  
  
“Hotch, we got them. All three of them.” Derek announced as I began to move faster. Spencer was still worming his way through the crowd, almost at the edges where someone was speed walking.  
  
“Natasha, where are you going?” Rossi asked. I chose to ignore him for a lack of being able to properly explain myself. Instead I broke into a run, full out pushing people out of the way until I finally caught up to Spencer. I pulled him back immediately.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.  
  
“I thought that—I thought I might’ve seen someone who fit the description.”  
  
“Spence, you _can’t_.” I began, but gave up. He knew what I was about to say. I just shook my head, directing him over where the rest of the team was congregating.  
  
“You can’t be doing things like that again.” Hotchner scolded. I nodded, lowering my gaze as the thoughts of what had just happened replayed in my head.  
  
“It won’t happen again.” And it wouldn’t. Not if I had my way. The paper in my palm registered once again and I unfolded it, keeping a straight face as I stared.  
  
“Is that what the kid gave you?” Rossi asked as Spencer looked over my shoulder at it. With a nod I held it out for everyone to see. The square of paper held in it a single lock of hair taped to the middle. My hair, and underneath my name written and then scratched out with ‘Athena’ replacing it. They looked to me for explanation.  
  
“He took hair from all of us the day before the rituals. I don’t know why—I just know it was a precursor to what was going to happen. This is his way of saying he’s coming. I doubt there’ll be any prints but we can check anyways.”  
  
We successfully apprehended the unsubs but it didn’t feel like a victory, not in the slightest. Not after what had happened and the piece of paper in my pocket. Rossi had brought in the messenger kid and tried to get something out of him, but he’d gotten the paper and instructions from some girl who was long past finding.  
  
The flight back was hellish at best. Part of me felt bad for being so incredibly sour and anti-social, keeping to the corner by myself with headphones in that weren’t playing anything. I didn’t want to talk about what happened because it had only confirmed my worst fear: that being tied to me meant being a target. Ares had full out threatened them, used them effortlessly to manipulate me. Who would he go after, what would he make me do next? This grand puppeteer with strings made of fishhooks. Once they were in, they would not come out. I could feel them stuck in my skin every which way; no matter what I would try and do, these people would always be at risk.  
  
Twice I had to put a halt to my habit of biting the insides of my cheeks as I’d begun to bleed. The view from the window could have been a fireworks display and I wouldn’t have noticed—my mind was so far gone. I thought back to the incident on the roof, how although it would be cruel to leave Spencer it would be far crueler to keep him so close to this fire. I should have done it. I should have fucking jumped. Sighing I glanced over at Spencer, distraught at the fact that he was watching me. He got to his feet and started to make his way towards me so I moved quickly to the washroom and locked the door behind me. I listened as his footsteps came to the door, hovered for a moment, and then retreated. My fingers traced over the scar on my neck, a sigh escaping me as I pondered the life I might’ve lead if things had been different all those years ago.  
  
Only when the jet was landing did I leave the washroom, taking a seat only as long as I needed to. I was at the door before it had even lowered completely, jogging down the stairs and making for the seclusion of the building. The controlled chaos was somehow comforting; Ares couldn’t stop the phone calls and keyboard clicks and symphony of voices. These sounds would go on unchallenged. My system craved caffeine and my feet complied, leading me to the kitchen as Spencer began to call out for me.  
  
Ignoring him, my hands worked at constructing a half-decent coffee. Anger got the best of me as I tipped the cream into the coffee, splashing it onto the counter. With a growl I slammed the carton down and grabbed a cloth, trying to mop it up as Spencer kept talking. He was trying to be gentle, trying to be calm.  
  
“What was I supposed to do?”  
  
“You should have just let me kill myself!”  
  
I whipped around but immediately regretted letting the words leave my mouth. The whole team had manifested outside the kitchen and there was no doubt in my mind that they heard me. I did my best not to look at any of them, but Spencer was dousing me with one of his looks. He opened his mouth to say something and I grabbed the mug, still dripping spilled cream, and left them all behind.  
  
The most logical place for me to go would have been somewhere quiet—Spencer would never expect me to take refuge in Garcia’s office. She willingly let me in on my promise to keep the coffee away from her computers. Penelope didn’t know about what happened earlier, not yet. I was content to just sit here and listen to her stories and ramblings and references that I didn’t always get. But the more she spoke, the more I actually listened, the more I began to understand what it was that I needed to do to keep her, keep everyone protected.  
  
“Pen, can you print off some papers for me please?”  
  
“Of course, my dove.” She pushed off from one desk, spinning in her chair to face her computer as the pen in her grasp flashed different colours. “What is it you’re looking for?”  
  
Scribbling what I believed to be the form number down on her notepad I slid it over to her. She looked up at me with wide eyes and simply shook her head.  
  
“I—I can’t do that.”  
  
“Penelope as much as I love you, if you don’t print it I’ll just go and get it somewhere else.”  
  
She turned slowly back to the computer, begrudgingly typing and printing off the papers. She grabbed them before I could, holding them out to me with the promise that she wouldn’t let this happen. After borrowing a pen and signing on the Xs I gave her a weak smile before leaving her and heading for Hotchner’s office.  
  
With a knock on the door I was beckoned inside, receiving the same look that the others tried to hide. Worry about my stability, concern about my well-being. Not anymore. I gave a half-hearted smile and set the papers down on the corner of his desk, promising that everything should be in order. The confusion took over his face as I began my retreat.  
  
“What’s this?” He questioned, holding me back as I nodded for him to take a look. His eyes were glued to the sheet and he looked up at me with disbelief. “Resignation?”  
  
“I already signed what I needed to.” I turned to leave again but he called me back, asking me before ordering me to take a seat.  
  
“I can’t accept this.” He said bluntly, gathering the papers and tossing them into the garbage. It was my turn to look at him with confusion.  
  
“Sir, I don’t want to work here anymore.”  
  
“And this has nothing to do with what happened today?” I sighed, sitting back in the chair and understanding the stalemate we had reached. “Natasha, all of us have baggage. This team is a family and we protect each other—that includes you.”  
  
“Yeah well, last time I checked no one else’s baggage is willing to kill everyone they care about. If Spencer…if any of you got hurt because of him…I just can’t have that blood on my hands. It’s better this way.”  
  
“You’re safer working here and I think you know that.”  
  
“Hotch—”  
  
“Every person on this team takes risks every time we take on a new case. We know what we’ve signed up for. You’re an asset to this team and it’s better if you stay with us.”  
  
“I’m a _liability_ to this team.”  
  
“No you’re not.” He challenged, the proceeding silence spawning a staring match. I kept waiting for him to budge but he just wouldn’t. At last I lowered my eyes and sighed, picking at the edges of my thumbnail.  
  
“I can’t let anyone get hurt because of me.”  
  
“And none of us want you to get hurt because we didn’t catch him in time.”  
  
He refused to back down and I didn’t know what else I could say to change his mind. There had to be something I could say to make him see that if Ares hadn’t been caught in all this time, then he wouldn’t now. I had meant it when I told Spencer I should have died; and no matter how much it would hurt him if I was gone, he would be safe. Alive. No one else could be harmed if I ceased to exist. Ares couldn’t torture me six feet under. You can’t stalk a ghost. You can’t threaten a rotting corpse.  
  
“I’ve got things to do.” I made it to the door before he called me back one last time. I turned, leaning half way in against the doorframe. The body language suggested an aversion to the subject of discussion: one foot out the door, a desire to flee.  
  
“You know that if you ever want to talk,” He trailed off as I lowered my eyes, shaking my head before straightening up.  
  
“Unfortunately talking won’t change anything.” When I retreated to my desk I didn’t really know what I was feeling exactly. It was partly anger at Hotch for not allowing me to simply quit—although if I really wanted to I supposed I could take it higher. I was still mad at myself for putting everyone in this situation, but Hotch was right in one thing—it was better if I was on the team. Otherwise, how could I make sure Spencer was out of harm’s way?  
  
“Ay T-Bird, we going or what?” Derek was holding out his arms in impatience at the elevators. I rushed to grab my jacket and down the rest of my bad coffee before going over to him. He started cracking jokes as if nothing was wrong, as if the entire day hadn’t happened, and I tried my best to go along with it.  
  
It was sometime after 8 when he pulled into the parking lot of my building. A street lamp half way down the street was flickering in its last moments of life. We got out of the car and I told him that the elevator was officially closed for maintenance so we’d have to take the stairs.  
  
“You’re lucky I love you.” He teased as we walked towards the main door. I raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Hey, it could be worse. I could make you carry me up all those stairs.” We continued this banter back and forth until we were almost at the front steps, when I stopped. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. Derek asked me what was wrong and as I began to survey the street he did the same. “I don’t know…”  
  
“C’mere.” He said quietly, draping his arm around my shoulder as we both caught sight of movement in a car ahead of us. The man in the car kept eyeing us and I looked around as Derek led us closer to the rolled down passenger window. “Hey man, can I help you with something?”  
  
“N-no I was just—I’m waiting for my friend.” He pointed up towards the building as Derek straightened up, nodding. After another quick sweep of the street he steered me inside and we began our trek up the stairs. We made it to my apartment and he did his rounds as I slipped out of my shoes and jacket.  
  
“We are good to go.” He announced as he collapsed onto the couch, picking up the remote and slinging one arm behind his head. I told him I’d be back and quickly put on some more comfortable clothes before sitting beside him on the couch. “Hey, d’you mind if I just crash here for the night?”  
  
“Derek,” I began, giving him a look. “Please tell me you don’t have me on suicide watch or something.”  
  
“No, I’ve got you on Morgan watch, baby girl. Garcia told me what you made her do today and she was not happy.”  
  
“Do we have to do this now?” I whined.  
  
“Well I can think of a few other things we can do on this couch.” He winked, successfully blocking my punch and managing to hold me down with one hand while tickling me with the other. “Think you can leave me, huh?”  
  
“Stop!” I squealed, thrashing around in his grasp until he finally let me go. I huffed a breath out, blowing the hair out of my face and landing a punch on his arm. “Jerk.”  
  
“Hey now, you weren’t calling me names the first day we met.” He reasoned as I sat with my arms crossed.  
  
“My apologies oh brave saviour of one damsel in distress.” I said sarcastically, faking a bow as he laughed. “You weren’t half bad in Chicago.”  
  
“What was that kid’s name again?”  
  
“Jeff Colby.” I said each name slowly with disgust. “Who seemed to think objectifying me was the quickest way to a date. Enter knight in shining armor, who jousts the enemy down.”  
  
“Never knew I’d be employed as your full time creep-shield.”  
  
“Oh please, like you didn’t volunteer.” I pushed off of the couch, going down the hall to get him some blankets and a pillow. When I returned to the living room he was rummaging through my DVDs, a sight that made me cringe. “Please keep those in the right order.”  
  
“Alright, Miss OCD.” He teased, putting something in the DVD player and tossing me the case. He sauntered into the kitchen, opening some cupboards and drawers before finding what he was looking for.  
  
“We’re watching Shaun of the Dead? You do remember we have work tomorrow, right?”  
  
“Just sit down, girl.” He scolded as he put the bag of popcorn in the microwave. I rolled my eyes but complied, putting the TV on the right setting and settling under half of the blanket. I picked at the stray threads sticking out of the blanket until he came back, handing me the bowl while he got under the blanket and draped an arm around me.  
  
“How the hell do you manage to burn popcorn?”  
  
“Shut up and watch the damn movie.” He scolded as I laughed. The whole thing felt like a deep breath you take before you talk about something important. And sure enough, fifteen minutes in, he turned to me. “You do know that leaving wouldn’t be good for anyone, right?”  
  
“Hotch already gave me the speech okay?” I grumbled, picking at the skin around my nails. “It can’t be that difficult to understand why I want to. You do get it, right?”  
  
“I get it, but it’s not the answer.”  
  
“If it was you…If some psycho was threatening to kill me or the others unless you complied…I mean, wouldn’t you do the same thing? Am I just overreacting Derek?”  
  
“Not at all, baby girl.” He tilted my head up and gave me one of those looks that made it impossible to doubt him. “You’re right, I’d probably want to do the same thing. But you’ve gotta understand that we all worry for you just as much as you worry for us.”  
  
“I just wish I could be more help…”  
  
“Don’t you dare go blaming yourself for this.” He said seriously. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t ask for this to happen.”  
  
“But if I just—”  
  
“—Nuh uh. Don’t even go there. Just keep in mind that we’re in this together. All of us. We’re your family, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“That means we’re going to look after you. You’re not alone in this.” He waited for me to nod before pressing his lips to my forehead and pulling me into a hug. I willingly wrapped my arms around him, holding him longer than normal in an attempt to stifle the tears trying to worm their way out. When I finally pulled away he kept his arm around me for good measure and let me rest my head on his shoulder.  
  
“You’re not so bad, Derek Morgan.”  
  
“You’re okay yourself, my little T-Bird.”


	12. Moment

_"The minute people fall in love, they become liars." – Harlan Ellison_

* * *

“We need someone he’s already shown interest in.” All of the eyes in the room turned to Emily and me. It took a moment before I understood what they were saying.  
  
“ _Hell_ no.” I breathed, turning to Emily. “Rock paper scissors.” She nodded, holding out her fist and indulging me in my attempt to evade Viper, the scumbag suspect at the top of our list who spent his time teaching guys how to pick up girls. In unison we lifted our hands once, twice, and on the final time presented our weapons. Hers: scissors. Mine: rock. “Say hi to Viper for me, sweetheart.”  
  
“Oh, this is going to _suck_!”  
  
“The rest of us need to cover the other clubs in the area that may be a target.” Rossi said.  
  
“I think I’m…just gonna stay back.” Spencer said, taking steps away from us all. “You know, see if I can figure out anything else…”  
  
“Oh no, I need a wingman kid!” Morgan smirked, grabbing hold of his shoulder.  
  
“Sorry Spence, if Emily’s stuck with Viper it’s the least you could do to hang out with Derek. You might learn a few things.” I nudged him playfully. I trusted Derek with my life; but more importantly, I trusted him with Spencer’s. “I’ll take Rehab.”  
  
“I’ll go with you.” Hotch said as Derek claimed the 7 Lounge. This was something I’d noticed: ever since my confession Hotch had been keeping a much closer eye on me. Whenever we were working a case it was either him or Rossi I was paired with.  
  
“Clubs don’t open for another three hours; Em, want to come with me?” I asked as the others began to disperse, knowing their jobs.  
  
“Where?”  
  
“I need to find something to wear.”  
  


* * *

  
With a final tug I got the last bit of the zipper up on the dress. This being done, my look was complete: hair, makeup, and dress transforming me into someone worthy of being picked up by a psychopath with an affinity for cleaning. The strapless red dress reached my mid-thigh; it had a sweetheart neckline with jewels dusting the bottom. I had found it cheap, just like the clutch that matched it and perfectly held my badge, phone, gun, and wallet. Finishing off with a pair of nude heels, I was fully equipped.  
  
Everything I needed to seduce a serial killer.  
  
I helped Emily get the back of her dress done up and we made small talk. It consisted mostly about Viper, how she could make a fool out of him and successfully get everything she needed out of him in one night. Briefly we were even on the topic of past romances, but I killed that conversation quickly. Neither the time nor place for an in depth explanation of stupid, stupid Luke.  
  
Taking note of the time, I wished her good luck and left to go meet Hotch. It was weird walking through the police station I’d been normally clothed in minutes before—I felt like a hooker brought in for questioning and desperately wanted a sweater. The only thing that brought my comfort level back to somewhat normal was Morgan. His shameless flirting had become the norm and so to hear his wolf whistle put me at ease. At least some things were reliable.  
  
“Damn girl, you sure seem to be lookin’ for love dressed like that.”  
  
“Shut up, Morgan.” I smiled, punching him as we passed. Hotch was waiting, arms crossed, at the side doors. I pretended not to notice as his eyes gave me a quick once-over. I also pretended that a part of me wasn’t satisfied at the gesture.  
  
“You’re not exactly dressed for the event, Bossman.” I teased when I reached him. He didn’t crack a smile, but stepped ahead of me and held the door open.  
  
“I’m not trying to lure anyone.”  
  
“You got me there.” My shoes clicked with each step as he led me to his car. How he learned to tell his apart from the other standard issue black SUVs was a secret that still eluded me. He clicked the remote in his hand that unlocked the doors and came around to open the passenger door for me. The unfiltered politeness was something I still hadn’t gotten used to. We were both in, seat-belted, and en route to the club before he spoke again.  
  
“You’re okay with this, right?” It was a sudden question that I hadn’t even bothered to think about. Of course it was a bit nerve-wracking: the possibility of flirting with a serial killer and not even knowing it, but that was the job. I already felt at a disadvantage because of the whole Ares thing, I did not want to show any more signs of weakness.  
  
“Of course. If I wasn’t comfortable with it I’d volunteer to stay back.”  
  
“Why do I get the feeling that’s the complete opposite of what you’d do?”  
  
A heavy sigh broke through my defenses. “Because you’re good at your job.”  
  
It only took the flash of our badges to get cleared into the club with firearms. I would feel so much more comfortable if the gun was on my person, holstered _somewhere_ , but unless I was going to strap it half-way up my leg my purse was the best option. There were loads of people already in the club but more kept coming in. Hotch separated from me almost immediately, and although I knew full well it was our plan it still caught me off guard. I tried to be covert as I fiddled with my earpiece.  
  
With determined steps I set off to get myself a table, hoisting myself up onto the chair and crossing my legs. It was as I looked around at all of the people and tried to figure out what the fire-hazard limit was that I realized how unprepared for this job I was. Clubs were not my scene, especially when it meant trying to lure a serial killer. But it was more than just that: it was the whole being forced into flirting deal that made my stomach churn. It didn’t help that I felt naked with the amount of skin the stupid dress left uncovered. Why couldn’t acceptable club attire include something that didn’t need to put every feminine bit of my body on display? A part of me began to panic as I thought about how hard this might actually end up being.  
  
“Hotch?” My voice was so much weaker than I’d intended.  
  
“Yeah?” I scanned the bar until I found him, sitting nearby and making himself look wholly unapproachable. I calmed at the sight of such close proximity.  
  
“You’ve…You’ve got my back, right?” I knew how pathetic I sounded, but the thought of our unsub approaching me was nothing in comparison to the thought that Ares might see this as a perfect opportunity for a second kidnapping. This was something I needed to hear. “If I actually…you know, need help?”  
  
“I’m right beside you, Tasha.”  
  
The fact that he used my nickname was what put me at ease. It was just another comfort thing, like Derek’s flirting or Spencer’s statistics or Penelope’s ramblings. I barely had time to suppress my smile before I noticed someone heading my way. Automatically I knew there was no threat—at least, not in a murdering kind of way. The guy was shorter, Latino, and looked meek. Our unsub was the opposite. He flashed a smile, though, and before he could start any spiel I blurted out a lie.  
  
“Sorry, but I’m meeting someone here.”  
  
“Oh…Well, lucky guy.” He smiled and I returned the gesture, knowing that not everyone would be so willing to accept the lie. During the time it took him to approach me, get rejected, and return to his group of friends the population in the club had almost doubled. The music was turned up so much that I could feel the beat through the table as my fingers nervously tapped along.  
  
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I searched for the cause, but I didn’t have to look for long. I probably should have seen it coming, should have known the lie worked too well. He didn’t buy it; or at least his friends didn’t. I had officially made myself a target for a group of boys, none of which could be the unsub. I made the mistake of meeting eyes with one of the boys, who flashed a smile. I turned away immediately, but after about a minute something clanked on the table.  
  
“From the gentleman in the red tie.” The waiter said, identifying the smiling boy. I clutched the glass just to have something to do with my hands, debating whether or not to take a sip before noticing the boy approaching.  
  
“God dammit.” I muttered, taking a gulp of the drink and preparing to shoot him down. Despite the situation I couldn’t deny he was attractive: tall, dark skinned, light eyes, dressed to the nines.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Hey, sorry I’m—”  
  
“Incredibly beautiful? I noticed.” He winked.  
  
“Meeting someone here.” I raised the glass to my lips before remembering it was paid for by him, and lowered it once more. It vibrated from the volume of the music and played out the tune against my skin.  
  
“Well there’s a lot of creeps here, how about I keep you company till he shows?” I opened my mouth to argue but he cut me off quickly. This guy was good. “I’m Jason.”  
  
“That’s very kind of you Jason, but I don’t think my boyfriend would be too happy if he found me waiting with another guy.”  
  
“Hey, we’re just talking. How about a magic trick?”  
  
“If I agree will you leave me alone?”  
  
“If you tell me your name first.”  
  
“Natasha.”  
  
“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He winked again, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a deck of cards. I waited, rather impatiently, as he set up his trick and went through his rehearsed lines. What bothered me, though, was that the hairs on the back of my neck were still standing up. My eyes danced across all the faces, searching for the eyes. After I’d swept almost the entire place, I caught him. He was standing off to the side, watching me. With a quick glance I could see that at least from afar he fit the profile. I flashed him a smile, hoping to show him I was interested.  
  
“Am I boring you?” Jason asked, and I snapped back to him.  
  
“Sorry, my boyfriend’s here.” I offered a weak smile as Jason followed my eyes to the other guy and came back to me.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I can take a hint.” He gathered up all of his cards and slumped back to his friends.  
  
I expected the guy to come up to me right after, but he wandered around and waited, as if he wanted to see how many boys I would turn away for him. It was more than I was comfortable with, and the more who approached me the more agitated I became. Things reached the point where I dropped all pretence of kindness or sympathy: I just started snapping no at anyone who approached me. And then, after what felt like an eternity, he started making his way towards me.  
  
“We’ve got a potential.” I tried to move my lips as little as possible, finishing the rest of my drink and fixing my hair a little, flashing a smile at the guy. He maintained an uninterested manner, fixing the hair under his top hat and adjusting the lit-up belt on his waist. Over and over it flashed the phrase ‘ask about my tattoo’ across the screen. He wore a leopard print scarf and a single fingerless glove on his right hand, which clutched a drink. There was a mark above his eye, but I couldn’t make out if it was the definitive scar our witness identified.  
  
“Milady.” He reached out and brought my free hand to his lips. The gesture sent shivers down my spine as my fight or flight instincts kicked in.  
  
“I thought you were gonna leave me waiting all night.” I teased, crossing my arms under my chest and leaning forward.  
  
“Hey, you make me sound so easy.” He smirked, leaning close. “I’ll give you…3 tries to guess my name.”  
  
“Oh yeah? What do I get if I win?”  
  
“My number.”  
  
This went on for a long time. This back and forth banter of his games and tricks bought from Viper. I didn’t get his name right the first three times but he told me it I could call him Matt. There was no doubt he was charismatic, and he had all of the routines down like clockwork, but something was off that I just couldn’t put my finger on.  
  
He ran 2 routines before he was comfortable enough to sit down beside me. He kept glancing around, almost nervously, as if he was expecting someone to recognize him. This combined with the fact that he was holding my hand, stroking patterns on my palm, and sitting unreasonably close did not help me feel at ease. There were a few times I wanted to call the whole thing off, but there was a job to be done and I had my value to prove.  
  
“So what do you say?”  
  
“Hm?” The words caught in my throat. Was this actually it? Was he about to invite himself over to my place where he would try to kill me?  
  
“You feel like dancing?”  
  
Everything fell apart. This wasn’t the guy: our unsub wouldn’t waste time with something like dancing when he had me hook, line and sinker. My heart dropped as I realized I’d just spent all this time on the wrong guy. I had to think fast, scanning the crowd to see if I caught sight of anyone else who could possibly fit the profile.  
  
And that’s when I saw him. Or at least, thought I did. It was a fragment; just a glimpse of half of his face. Half of that unforgettable smile. I looked again, feverishly searching the area for another look, but he was hidden. He was here. I broke into a sweat, stuttering and fumbling to open my purse to take out my phone. I pretended to check it, feigning surprise.  
  
“Oh, sorry. My boyfriend just told me he’s here.”  
  
“Boyfriend?” There was anger in his voice, that much I could hear over the music. I didn’t have time to be sweet.  
  
“Look you’re cute and all but I was just passing the time, okay? He’s here.” The last part was for Hotch, but I didn’t know if he’d get it. I needed him to understand. “He’s _here_ , right here.”  
  
“What, was I too forward or something? _Godammnit I knew that was a waste of my money_!”  
  
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Hotch was beside me, hand on my lower back and eyeing the would-be unsub. I struggled to gain my composure, getting to my feet and wrapping my arms around him muttering something about missing him. The guy took a hint, backing off to the shadows as I frantically looked around. When I was sure the coast was clear I turned to Hotch.  
  
“Can we please leave?”  
  
“You saw the unsub?”  
  
“What?” He misunderstood my message. “N-no, he’s not here—I just really need to leave.”  
  
The crowds were hard to get through, all the people grinding up against each other shooting me death glares as I pushed my way through their mangled mess of arms and legs and torsos. I made it to the door, bursting through and looking around in a panic, worried he might be waiting for me outside. But no, he was here to taunt me, not capture me. My desire to be covered up multiplied tenfold.  
  
“Natasha?” Hotchner was outside now, but I walked away from him so he wouldn’t see panic worked onto my face. I stopped when I got to the car, tapping my fingers against my leg and waiting for the telltale beep beep that signified the unlocking of the door. I clambered in, slamming the door and checking the back seat as Hotch got in. I knew he was looking for some sort of explanation for my actions, but the point was the guy I’d been talking to wasn’t the unsub and no one else there fit the description.  
  
“He asked me to dance, it didn’t fit the profile.” I said quietly, gluing my eyes open on the passing scenery as he drove us back to the station.  
  
“When you said ‘he’s here’ did you mean Ares?”  
  
“No.” My voice cracked—it was no good. Hotch slowed, pulled off to the shoulder and flicked on the 4 way lights.  
  
“Natasha, was he there?” He said more sternly.  
  
“I—I don’t know! I…There was a moment where I thought I saw him in the crowd—” He began to turn around but I leapt forward, turning the wheel back and causing him to break. “No! I was probably just imagining it or something stupid like that!”  
  
“Do you honestly believe you were imagining it?” He was staring right at me, and even as I straightened up I knew he wasn’t buying my story. My hands trembled slightly as I sat back and did everything in my power not to cry—my eyes were watering though, and I couldn’t hide that.  
  
“He’ll be gone by now…Please don’t tell Spencer,” was all I could manage to say in response. It felt like he was holding my eye for a year, solidifying in my head the knowledge that he would not let this go. I was going to have eyes on me round the clock until we caught him, which probably wouldn’t happen until I was dead.  
  
He eased back into traffic and we were silent the rest of the way back. There were a few times when I cried despite myself, the act of holding everything in breaking cracks through my attempt to be brave. As we pulled back into the parking lot I flipped down the mirror, carefully mopping up all the smudged eyeliner and taking a deep breath to steady myself.  
  
“Remind me to call you the next time I need someone to pretend to be my boyfriend, Bossman.” I joked, forcing myself back to normal but exiting the car without looking over at him. It was like the secret was painted on his face and if I saw it I would break down.  
  
“Back so soon?” Derek called as I met him at the entrance. I shouldered him as I went over to Spencer and hugged him briefly, knowing it would tip him off that something wasn’t right but needing to have something safe, only if for a moment. “What, get tired of all those boys hangin’ off ya?”  
  
“I’m going to shoot you in the foot, Morgan, see how many girls you get with crutches.”  
  
“Hey, ladies dig the crippled—I can play the sympathy card for a month! So how many numbers did ya get?”  
  
“I was on the job, Morgan!” I couldn’t help but laugh, glad to be back in reliable company.  
  
“Hotch?”  
  
“I stopped counting after twelve.” He said from behind us, eyes glued to his phone as we piled into the building. “Do we have any leads?”  
  
I rushed off to the locker rooms, gladly ripping off the dress and covering myself up with real clothes once more. There was a knock on the door outside and I told whoever it was that I’d be out in a minute. I shoved everything back into my go bag and put it into the locker, sitting down for a moment and trying to come to terms with what on earth had happened at the club. Was I just being paranoid and so I hallucinated him there? Or had he actually followed us here from Quantico just to let me know he wouldn’t be stopped by distance? Maybe this was exactly what he had meant with the note. He said he was coming, and now he’d shown himself.  
  
With a sigh I got to my feet, knowing that if Hotch kept his word about Spencer he would certainly end up telling at least David. Spencer was waiting for me outside of the room, eyeing me wearily.  
  
“Is everything alright?”


	13. Almost

_"Nothing is so strong as gentleness and nothing is so gentle as real strength." – Ralph W. Sockman_

* * *

  
“So I’ve still got to finish the last page of the report but Lockwood’s not going anywhere so I figured it could wait till Monday morning—I mean, I hope that’s okay.”  
  
The stairs were taking particular strain on my body tonight. It was well into the night as Hotch, my scheduled escort for tonight, trudged alongside me up all 5 flights of stairs.  
  
“I trust you’ll get it done.” He said, trying and failing to suppress a yawn. I felt like apologizing, just as I did every time someone had to trail me all the way into my apartment, but I knew he’d be polite and tell me it was no worry. No matter what any of them said, it was my fault this was happening. If only I’d paid more attention those four months, I could have had a more accurate profile; I would know where this bastard was.  
  
We finally made it to my floor and shuffled across the carpeted hallway to the only door without a welcome mat. Shuffling around in my bag for the keys, I fished them out only to drop them. Picking them up and shaking my head, I fiddled with the lock and pushed the door open. I took one step in and stopped.  
  
“What is it?” Hotch said from behind me as my eyes scanned the darkness. It would be five steps to the light switch, five steps too far into the place to see for sure.  
  
“I…I don’t know.” I could barely muster a whisper. “Something doesn’t feel right…”  
  
From behind me I heard him drawing his gun, and raising it before him he stepped around me and walked a few feet into the place. My heart began to race as the feeling in my gut intensified. Something was very very wrong here. I began to panic, backing out of the threshold altogether and taking refuge in the hallway. I watched as Hotchner disappeared around the corner, gun at the ready, while I held my breath like a coward outside.  
  
Before I had any time to really register what was happening, a hand clasped over my mouth and an arm snaked around my waist. The attacker began to furiously pull me down the hall towards the opposite staircase. I was thrashing like mad, trying to grab hold onto anything to stop him. I opened my jaws enough to grab one of his fingers, and I bit down on it with all my strength, the rate of my heart defying all normal palpitations.  
  
With every last ounce of air that occupied my lungs, I screamed for Hotch. In the attacker’s split second of lost control I tried to throw my elbows backwards, but hit only his arms. And then Hotch leapt into the hallway, gun pointed directly at the attacker, who froze. Before anyone could act he produced a gun of his own and held it to my temple.  
  
“Put the gun down.” Hotch was taking slow steps in my direction as the attacker’s arm on my waist moved, tightening around my neck instead. “I _said_ , put the gun down.”  
  
“ _Please._ ” I begged, my fingers wedged between my neck and his arm. He was thinking about the request for an awful long time, and with every second Hotch came closer. When he was only three feet in front of me, the attacker came to a decision. In one swift movement he threw me forward, sending me crashing into Hotch as he spun and slammed through the door to the stairwell.  
  
Hotch stumbled but caught his footing, trying to straighten me up and looking up at the door. He seemed to think leaving me was a bad idea and so he tried to lead me towards the stairs. I took no more than four steps before the reality of what had just happened washed over me, weakening my knees until I collapsed altogether. I began to shake horribly, a nauseas feeling boiling in my stomach as tears sprung from my eyes.  
  
It was exactly how he had caught me last time.  
  
Little 15 year old Natasha, silly enough to think that being in high school made you invincible. No 15 year old worries about being taken off their front porch in broad daylight after school, but I should have. And just when I think I’ve gotten past that, he shows up again: my personal demon, the Devil incarnate.  
  
“Natasha?” Somewhere inside of my head I knew Hotch was calling me, but the hall was spinning and I couldn’t focus worth a damn and all I could think about were those four months in a basement and how small this hallway felt and how sick I was. He said something else, but now it was just noise: no discernable words. After a few more seconds, everything went black.  
  


* * *

  
Coldness, the first thing I was aware of; I was cold. My eyelids were burning red; there was some bright light above me just beyond the cover of skin. I wasn’t ready to brave the scenery just yet. I began to move around a bit, testing out my limbs to rid their feeling of foreignness.  
  
“BP’s 110/50, she’s stabilizing, breathing is coming back to normal, she’s not clammy anymore and showing signs of consciousness so I think she’ll be fine.”  
  
I creaked my eyes open before slamming them shut against the blinding whiteness of what I could only assume was the ambulance. Then, slower this time, I managed to keep them open. The paramedic offered me a smile as I pushed myself up, ripping the oxygen mask off despite his tries to keep it on.  
  
“I don’t need it, I’m fine.”  
  
“Well we just want to make sure you’re in tip top shape before we let you go, ma’am.”  
  
“I can’t, I have to get him…”I said weakly, reaching for my gun as I tried to get to my feet. Only when I felt four hands pulling me back down did I realize Hotch was there too. “Did you catch up to him?”  
  
“By the time paramedics got here he was already gone.” I rubbed the sides of my head, heaving out a sigh before promising the medic I was good to go and thanking him.  
  
“Now ma’am you’re still regressing from the initial stage of shock so please take it easy—I don’t want you ending up in the hospital.”  
  
“You got it.” I promised, getting onto solid ground with the help of Hotch and watching as the ambulance disappeared down the street. I rubbed my eyes, beginning to apologize as I looked nervously around the street for any signs of movement. There were a few looky-lous, but no one suspicious; for some reason, this just made me even more nervous.  
  
“This is exactly why I didn’t want you coming home alone at night. You didn’t ask for this to happen, none of this is your fault.” He placed a hand on my shoulder as I sighed. “Do you want to call Reid?”  
  
“No…He’s visiting his mom for the weekend. That’s more important than this, I’ll just tell him when he comes back.”  
  
“You don’t think he’d want to hear about this?”  
  
“I know he’d want to and that he’d feel horribly conflicted over staying with his mother or coming back to me, so I might as well make it easy for him.”  
  
“Well, it’s your call.” He said, keys jingling as he pulled them from his pocket. “I parked just over here.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone given what just happened, and seeing as Reid is out of state…”  
  
“Oh.” I said after a moment, understanding what he was getting at. I proceeded to tell him I’d be fine, secretly thankful that he insisted otherwise. Alone was most definitely the last thing I wanted to be right now. Just some form of human contact would cut it tonight. I was also lucky in that he didn’t suggest me getting anything for the night from my apartment, seeing as that was really the last place I felt remotely safe at the moment.  
  
I followed Hotch to his car, getting in the front and thanking God he didn’t try and make small talk. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened, but even worse would be trying to act like it didn’t happen by talking about the weather—which was actually shaping up to be a pretty dense storm. The rain, slow at first, started rolling out in sheets as the sky lit up and cracked with thunder. It was about a 20 minute drive to his house from my building, and despite myself I cast nervous glances all around as I followed him up the front steps.  
  
When we got in he tried to direct me to the master bedroom, but I insisted on taking the couch. It was bad enough he had to play babysitter, I sure as hell wasn’t making him stay on the couch on top of that. After enough persuasion he gave in, disappearing up the stairs to get a blanket. I collapsed onto the sofa, letting my bag fall to the floor and resting my head in my hands. I tried not to think about what would no doubt keep me awake the rest of the night: but it was no easy thing to ignore.  
  
“Here, take as many as you need.” Turning, I saw Hotch come down the last step, arms full of pillows and blankets. If I hadn’t been in such a rotten mood I’d have laughed. He set them down on the coffee table and nodded, turning to leave.  
  
“I’m sorry about everything that happened tonight, but I really appreciate all of this, Hotch. A lot.” Thunder shook the house as the lights flickered for a moment and my fingers dug graves into the corner of the couch.  
  
“Are you okay?” He asked cautiously, turning to face me. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked out the window as lightning illuminated the sky. The problem with growing up with Spencer was that some of his habits could occasionally rub off on you—like his rambling. I was talking before I had the sense to filter myself.  
  
“This one night when he had me, around the second month…There was this terrible storm that cut the power to the whole place. He came down the stairs and he was so furious with me. He thought I was trying to communicate with Zeus and…I just remember him beating me to try and make it stop until I passed out…” Another flash of lightning brought me out of the memory and I was aware of the look on his face. “Sorry, you don’t need to be hearing that.”  
  
“Do you…Would you like me to stay up with you until it passes?”  
  
“God, no.” I dismissed, pulling off my watch and earrings as a sign of my imminent undressing. “Go to bed, I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Get some sleep.” He said with the rare and coveted Hotchner smile. “If you need anything I’m just upstairs.”  
  
“Gotcha, Bossman.” I said weakly, turning to the pile on the table as he looked out the window, up and down the street, before double checking the lock on the front door and leaving me to the silence of a half-unfamiliar house. It was cruel, almost; the last time I was here it had been in happiness, the rooms filled with child’s laughter and light. But now it was dark, the quiet amplifying my fear tenfold; the memory of Jack in stark juxtaposition with recent events.  
  
On top of the mountain of blankets I noticed there was an old t shirt and a pair of sweatpants. As weird as it would be wearing my boss’s clothes, it would beat sleeping in a suit. I quickly changed and pulled my hair up, leaving my old clothes on the floor and picking out a pillow and blanket. Crossing the room, I hit the light switch and plunged myself into darkness before crawling onto the sofa. Wrapping myself tight in the blanket, I took a few deep breaths and tried to clear my mind.  
  
But of course, that didn’t work. I found solace nowhere. Every time I closed my eyes I felt the gun at my head; or worse, was forced to remember those long weeks spent locked underground. Every time I opened my eyes, the green light casting from the time on the TV box spelled out all the minutes I wasn’t sleeping. Sometimes I cried. The only comforting thought was that I didn’t have to work tomorrow and that Spencer would be home on Sunday.  
  
After an hour and a half of tossing and turning, I eventually gave up. Turning on the light, I fell onto the couch and looked around aimlessly for something to do. Before I could settle on anything to do something hit me full force: a realization. I shuffled frantically through my bag until I found a pen and some paper, beginning to scribble the tangle of thoughts messily down onto the paper.  
  
The man, the one who attacked me, it couldn’t have been Ares. It was impossible. Ares was much taller than I was, but whoever held that gun to my head was the same size as me. Also, he was nervous. Ares would have pointed the gun at Hotch, not me. He wouldn’t kill me so simply; no, I deserved a ritual. This all pointed to one conclusion, the one I had hoped would be just a theory.  
  
Deimos was still under Ares’ thumb, and he still wasn’t fully committed to what Ares was telling him to do. If we could find him, isolate him, it might be possible to force something out of him. At this point I gave up on sleep altogether, despite how tired I was, and tiptoed to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. It took a few tries for me to find the right cupboards, but once everything was set up I brought all the papers into the kitchen and studied them at the table while I waited for the coffee to brew.  
  
3 cups of coffee later I realized it was past 4, and I took a break from writing down every thought I had relating to the case. Taking a moment, I spread out the 8 sheets in front of me on the table, looking over everything to see if I could may any additional connections. I stood up, looking at it from a step back to try and see it all at once.  
  
Holding the cup in one hand, my other absently went up and pulled my pony tail to the side, tracing over the bumpy scar on the side of my neck with my fingertips. The murders were happening much closer together now, which at least meant the victims didn’t suffer nearly as much as his earlier ones. The mark still hurt if I stretched the wrong way, as if memory wasn’t a permanent enough reminder of it all.  
  
“I guess you couldn’t sleep much either.” The suddenness of the voice threw me from my trance, scaring me so much that the mug slipped right out of my hand. It crashed onto the floor and shattered, tens of pieces of ceramic mingling with whatever coffee had been left untouched.  
  
I mumbled an apology and immediately went for the paper towels, trying to mop up the liquid and grab all the pieces. Hotch started to help but I shooed him away, brushing off his apologies for startling me. When I successfully cleaned everything up I found him studying the notes I’d made.  
  
“You spent all night on this?”  
  
“Yeah…For some reason I couldn’t sleep.” I laughed weakly, crossing my arms over my chest. I didn’t know what was more odd; the ease with which I could joke about what had happened or seeing Hotchner in something other than a suit. “It sort of just hit me and I went with it.” From the other room I heard an unmistakable buzzing, and excused myself to go check my phone. When I finally found it I flicked it open, seeing it was a text from Spencer—which was weird, because it was 1 in the morning in Las Vegas.  
  
 _Hey,  
  
Call me when you get this.  
  
Spencer_  
  
My heart began to race, as my mind jumped to a thousand horrible conclusions. I punched his number in furiously and waited for him to answer.  
  
“Since when are you up so early on a Saturday?” He laughed.  
  
“Well I could ask what’s provoked you to stay up past your bedtime, Spence. What’s up? Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…I just had this feeling…well I guess it would be more appropriate to call it an instinct, feelings are more of a chemical balance in the brain whereas instincts are—”  
  
“Skip the science lesson, Spence.”  
  
“I just thought I should call and make sure you’re okay.”  
  
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” I shifted anxiously, shooting a glance at Hotch as he came into the living room.  
  
“Like I said, I had this instinct that told me to check up on you.”  
  
“Well I’m peachy-keen, Spence.” I promised. “What time are you coming home?”  
  
“If there aren’t any delays and the weather is favourable—which it’s supposed to be—then I should be in Virgina at 3pm.”  
  
“I’ll pick you up from the airport. But listen I’m going to try and get a few more hours of sleep so I’ll talk to you later, okay?”  
  
We said our goodbyes and I tossed my phone onto the table, collapsing onto the couch. I sighed, rubbing at my eyes and turning to face Hotch. He was giving me a look for lying to Spencer, but I shrugged it off.  
  
“I told you, I don’t want him to worry.” I said quietly. When I started to gather my things, announcing I should probably head home, he stopped me. “I can’t stay here forever, Bossman.”  
  
“I think you need to actually get some sleep.” He reasoned, ignoring my protests. “Once the sun is up and you’ve slept a few hours I’ll take you home.”


	14. Volatile

_"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." – Orson Welles_

* * *

  
I was very much aware of the fact that, especially in light of recent events, going for a run alone was probably not the best of ideas. But I figured, if he had his heart set on taking me then it would happen at one time or another and there wouldn’t be a whole lot I could do about it. The fact of the matter was I couldn’t stay cooped up in my apartment every minute that I wasn’t at work, I couldn’t stop living my life. Running made me feel better and it kept me in shape. It was a way to escape, if only for a while.  
  
My eyes were trained on the environment around me and for the most part I stuck to well-travelled paths. I’d passed countless people and tried to speed up if I’d gone too long without seeing someone to call out to in the event that the worst happened. I indulged myself by keeping my headphones in, mostly just to give me something to keep time with. A footfall for a drum beat. A sprint for a guitar solo.  
  
In the lull between two songs I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned there was nothing. This set me on high alert, my fingers rushing to turn off the music. I kept the headphones in so that I would seem more vulnerable than I actually was. My heart started racing even faster; there was no one around to scream for. No one to save me. When I heard the footsteps again I slowed down and knelt, pretending to tie my shoe. Instead I reached for the gun strapped to my ankle. Flicking off the safety, I wrapped my fingers around the trigger and waited as he got closer. The sound of shoes beating against pavement slowed into a few last trots as he came up behind me. I sprang to my feet and turned, aiming right between his eyes.  
  
“ _Jesus Christ_.” I muttered, heaving out a breath and ripping the headphones from my ears as I lowered the gun. Hotch was holding his hands up, eyes furrowed in confusion. “Sorry, I’m a bit on edge.”  
  
“With good reason.” He offered, hands resting on his hips as he caught his breath. A ring of sweat ran around the neckline of his shirt, beads forming at his hairline. “Should you really be running alone?”  
  
“I run every Saturday, I had to make up for it today.” I mumbled, putting away my gun and wrapping my headphones around my neck. As antisocial as I felt, it didn’t take a genius to know that running with someone else, especially a male, would make me much less vulnerable. “I’m just on the last stretch, I parked over by the playground.”  
  
“First one to the monkey bars wins?” He asked, and it was my turn to look at him with confusion. It was rare enough to see him crack a smile or laugh, but I had yet to glimpse an almost playful side of him. It caught me off guard, but after a moment I nodded and we set off.  
  
I knew that this was just his way of trying to lighten the mood; a gesture of kindness so we could both pretend I hadn’t tried to shoot him thinking he was a serial killer with a target on my head. Despite the fact it was almost a game, he was actually a pretty fast runner. When the playground came into view he spurted ahead and I dropped all pretense of playing along. I matched him until the last few yards when I sped up, feet sinking into the sand as I leapt onto the monkey bars. I lifted my feet up and dangled in glory for a few minutes before walking smugly back over to him, chest heaving.  
  
“You’re fast.” I nodded.  
  
“You’re faster.” He challenged. I pretended to think about it for a moment and nodded my head.  
  
“Yeah, I really am.” We laughed and I fixed my ponytail, covering up the scar on my neck. The whole thing was weird; I could report to Hotch, take orders and give paperwork and profile with. But even after my birthday, having fun with him still hadn’t really appeared as a plausible thing. “Before I forget, I was wondering if—I mean, if we don’t have any cases right away—if maybe Derek and I could have permission to take a few hours to do some training in the gym tomorrow morning?”  
  
“Certainly.” He said as we started walking back to the parking lot. I glanced down at my watch and cursed under my breath. “What is it?”  
  
“I’ve got to pick up Spence from the airport in an hour and I am not looking forward to it.” I muttered as we made it to my car. I fished for my keys in my pocket and he gave me a questioning look. “I have to tell him about what happened on Friday and he’s not going to be very happy with me.”  
  
He wished me luck and we exchanged goodbyes as I scrambled into my car, needing to get home and shower before I went to the airport. I hadn’t dreaded talking to Spencer about something for ages, this was not going to be easy in the slightest.  
  


* * *

  
“Ease up.”  
  
My right arm swung around hard, then the left, pummeling towards the protective pads positioned on Derek’s hands. I was wholly focused on the task of hitting properly. The training that I’d gone through annually clearly wasn’t working out as well as I would have liked. It wasn’t exactly an issue of strength or ability, it was the fact that I had too much fear.  
  
He’d almost gotten me. Again. It was one thing when I was fifteen, a kid, but now I had absolutely no excuse. All this practice and training, all the running I did and the weight lifting and the cardio—all of it had flown out the window when I’d been attacked. What the hell did I do, a cop for 8 years? I threw back my elbows and cried for my boss.  
  
“I said ease up, Tash.” Derek deflected my punches and dropped his hands, forcing me to do the same. “You need to pace yourself properly or you won’t get anything done.”  
  
“Fine.” I huffed, looking around at all of the other FBI agents trying to strengthen up. “Should we switch to hand-to-hand?”  
  
For a minute he just looked at me but gave in and tossed the pads onto the ground. We moved to the centre of the room where a bunch of mats were set up and I took the stance he told me to. Part of me was stuck reminiscing about Chicago when we’d spend days doing the exact same. Of course I’d been thinking about how _prepared_ I’d be if Ares ever came back for me. It just made so much sense that if I could train with someone as fit as Derek then _surely_ I would be able to take him on next time.  
  
Now, though, I didn’t know exactly what more to do. Because no matter how many times I blocked Derek’s attack, no matter how many times I managed to land a hit of my own or successfully draw my pretend gun, it always boiled down to the fact that his was just pretend. I didn’t feel the fear, I couldn’t fake the paralysis nor temporarily induce the panic. Derek was not Ares, and all the acting in the world couldn’t make me feel anything less than perfectly safe and comfortable in his presence.  
  
He kept coming at me, pinning my arms back or covering my mouth or tripping me up. Anything he could do to incapacitate me. I would get him off of me most times, but it didn’t feel real. I kept trying to go back to that place I was in, to bring back what I felt in the hallway. But then Derek would speak or grunt and I would be brought back to reality.  
  
After a bit we incorporated weapons into the training—nothing actually lethal, just guns with empty clips. We knew that the risk wasn’t in actually be killed with them, Ares had bigger plans in mind for me, but we couldn’t rule out the possibility that he’d willingly wound me if it meant getting me quicker. It took a bit but I was eventually able to dodge the line of fire long enough to disarm him.  
  
The more difficult part came when we started practicing with an imaginary needle in case he tried to recycle his previously successful methods of incapacitating me. It was much smaller and easier to conceal, so much easier to get into me without my knowledge. I struggled against his grasp again and again, always trying to avoid what would be the death of me. But even with the training, even with the strength I’d worked so hard to get, it was just no match. I flipped out of his hold, crouching to the ground and barely wrapping my hands around the gun strapped to my ankle when I felt his finger against my neck. I cursed loudly, kicking away a nearby boxing glove. It rolled to the door of the gym that Hotch walked through moments after.  
  
“I need you both in the conference room.”  
  
“I just want to do a few more reps with her.” Derek said and I rolled my eyes.  
  
“What’s the point, Derek? I’ve died about forty times in the past hour.” I grabbed my bag off the ground, wiping the sweat from my forehead.  
  
“Tash, you can do this.” His eyebrows furrowed at my lack of will.  
  
“Just leave it, Morgan. I’ll call you if I need a door smashed in.” I snapped, telling Hotch I’d be up in fifteen minutes and stomping off to the showers. The door slammed behind me and I heaved out a sigh, my insides swarming with anger, fear, and now guilt. The water was cold against my skin, but I made quick business of cleaning up and drying my hair as much as I could. I got dressed quickly, making sure I didn’t forget anything and throwing my bag into my locker on the way to the conference room. Everyone was already there and I apologized for being late. The only seat left was between Spencer and Derek and I didn’t know who would be more awkward to sit beside—Derek because of my little outburst or Spencer, because he was still mad at me.  
  


* * *

  
_The greetings were quick and he wasted no time in launching into a detailed recount of a conversation he’d had on the plane ride back; something about how he’d ended up sitting beside some well-known physicist and they’d spoken the entire time about some theory or another. Normally I would be attentive, but I was dreading the conversation I would have to have with him. We got his luggage just as the story finished and as we piled everything into my car he asked how my weekend went. I hesitated, refraining from starting the car and growing more anxious as he started to clue in that maybe something wasn’t alright.  
  
“What is it?” He asked, turning to face me fully as I fidgeted with the keys. “Did something happen?”  
  
“When you called me yesterday…I wasn’t completely honest with you.” I didn’t want to see the look on his face so I kept my eyes glued to the dashboard. “Hotch was taking me home and…someone tried to take me in the hallway.”  
  
“What?!” He yelled, causing me to cringe. He started rambling a million questions and angry exclamations. I tried to explain but he just kept going. “How could you not tell me that?”  
  
“And when we were working that case in Atlanta, I saw him in the club I was at.” I knew that now was the time to get everything out, but God how it hurt to see him look at me like that. It was as if I’d stuck a knife in him myself. “Spence, I didn’t want you to worry, there was nothing you could do and—and you were with your mom this weekend, I didn’t want you to have to pick or—”  
  
“You don’t think I could have made that decision by myself?” He yelled. “You don’t think my mom would understand that that’s an okay reason to come home?”  
  
“You worry enough as it is, I didn’t want to give you more reason to!” I said in my defence, gripping the wheel. “Hotch let me stay at his place for the night, I was fine.”  
  
“Just—Just take me home.”  
  
“Spencer…”  
  
“Please.”  
_

* * *

  
“We’ve had over a month to work this case,” Hotch began as my eyes danced over the evidence boards for the millionth time. “I think we could all benefit from regrouping and going over what we already know to see if there’s any angle we missed.”  
  
“The cabin he had in Nevada was owned by an elderly couple found buried in the backyard, so we know he didn’t purchase it himself.” JJ started. “No prints or DNA found, everything was bleached clean.”  
  
“I did searches with a billion different parameters about any houses that had been newly purchased in the area in the last six months, but it was impossible to narrow anything down.” Penelope said. We continued on like this for a short while, essentially exhausting every possible avenue and still coming up short. Nothing on the younger boy, Deimos. It was impossible to find the car he used. Even though he probably had some medical background it was impossible to know for sure if it was formal or informal training.  
  
He was just too good.  
  
At the end of the meeting everyone’s hearts seemed a little bit heavier and the notion made me feel doubly guilty. I grabbed Derek’s hand as he tried to get up, looking at him wearily and asking him to stay for a minute. Everyone else left and I sighed, taking both his hands mine and trying not to look as miserable as I felt.  
  
“I shouldn’t have flipped out like that, I know you were just trying to help.” I said quietly, keeping my eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Derek.”  
  
“Apology accepted, T-Bird.” He smiled, raising my hands to his lips before pulling me into a hug and letting me rest my head on his shoulder. “All I know is you could whoop my ass if it came down to it.”  
  
“A hundred times over.” I teased, kissing his cheek as I pulled away. “I’ve got to try and get Spence to stop hating me.”  
  
Spencer was sitting at his desk, eyebrows furrowed as he penciled in the paper’s Sudoku puzzle. I hesitated before walking up and tentatively leaning against his desk.  
  
“Are you going to hate me forever or just until I die?” He gave me a look for playing that card but I raised my eyebrows at him and took the paper away from him so he had to answer me. He was quiet for a while, fidgeting with a button on his shirt.  
  
“I don’t hate you…I just wish you would have told me. You know I hate it when people hide things from me.”  
  
“But as much as it bothers you, you know why I did it.” I nudged him lightly and he nodded. “So I’m sorry, okay? But of all the times for you to be mad at me I think this isn’t exactly it. I need you on my side, Spence.”  
  
“I am on your side.” He said quietly.  
  
“I know. I know.” He didn’t push me away when I gently wrapped my arms around him, but managed to crack a smile when I kissed his forehead and he wiped at whatever spit I’d left on him. It wasn’t as big of a burden when I had him to fall back on.


	15. Spencer

_"Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it." – Helen Keller_

* * *

My feet were taking me faster than my mind was, the realization not completely settling in my conscious mind—but my feet, they knew. They tried to slip past the police but when they tried to hold me back my hands took over, flashing the badge, the magic key. The password. My eyes, they focused on the door to the house, ignoring Derek who was coming closer. He reached out but my hands, they had business elsewhere and they pushed him away. Ears ignoring his voice. It still didn’t hit me as I walked through the house, down the stairs, into the basement. It wasn’t until I stood in front of the glass, with Spencer on the other side, and placed my hands on the cold surface that my mind finally let me understand.  
  
He was going to die.  
  
This weaponized strand of anthrax that attacked the respiratory system, this odorless and invisible poison that had killed 17 out of the 25 people in less than twenty four hours, and Spencer had made it onto the hit list. It was different, somehow, having a case so dangerous so close to home. It was strange knowing that at any point the unsub saw fit another wave of victims could be targeted and we weren’t allowed to publicize the knowledge; an attempt to prevent the mass panic that would ensue.  
  
When someone has a specific title it’s like those words define you, they rob you of the chance for human error or lashing out or thinking inappropriately. When a doctor tells the family of a patient that there’s nothing he can do, it’s completely unfathomable. You’re a _doctor_ , they say, this is what you’ve _trained_ for! But everyone is human, no matter how many years you spend in school. So even though there was a strand of anthrax floating around with someone that had the potential to kill off the entire country, even though I was a Federal Agent whose duty it was to protect the citizens of America, all I could think about was saving Spencer Reid. In that one moment that I looked at him through the locked glass door, I would have sacrificed a thousand people if it just meant saving him. Because people will always play favourites. Always.  
  
Fingers, palms, wrists, all trembling against the glass as he turned to face me. He gave me that guilty look, because he knew he’d messed up but this wasn’t something that could be fixed. There was no band aid or second chance or change of heart or apology and forgiveness. Only the unidentified strand of anthrax in his system and absolutely no hint of a cure.  
  
I did my best to hold it together because I didn’t want him to see how scared I was. He couldn’t see how much this was killing me—he knew it deep down, he didn’t need a reminder set before his eyes. I wanted to yell at him, to hit him, ask how he could have been so stupid as to do something like this, how on earth he thought it was a good idea to come down here alone—but none of this would change the fact that he was infected. All the yelling or the crying couldn’t save him, not now.  
  
“We’ll fix this.” I promised, resisting the urge to smash through the glass myself and go to him. I knew what he wanted to say: that there wasn’t a cure, that people were dying from this in the hospital at that moment—but neither of us had the heart to acknowledge that. “We’ll find a cure, Spence.”  
  
“You should go to Morgan.” He said with a small smile. “He’s probably beating himself up about this.”  
  
“I’m not going to leave you.”  
  
“You can come back, Tash. I’ll still be here.” It was his turn to make a promise: neither of us was guaranteed to keep ours. With a deep breath I took a step back and he turned from me completely, rifling around the papers and belongings in the room. After a moment I left the house, catching sight of Derek and going over to him. He had a tortured look on his face that made me feel even worse.  
  
“I shouldn’t have let him go.” My eyes began to water as my breathing elevated. “He’s all I have left and now he’s going to die. Derek, we can’t let him die.”  
  
“C’mere.” He pulled me into his arms and I started hyperventilating, the tears working their way out of my eyes. A psychopathic serial killer out to get me, willing to take down even my closest friends and family in the process, and Spencer was going to die because of an unchecked crime scene. “It’s my fault, I was with him.”  
  
“Shut up, Morgan.” I cried, trying not to dig my nails into his back. I heard a car pull into the driveway and I knew who it would be: the rest of the team, the ones who would be analyzing my every move for the first sign that I wasn’t able to handle this in addition to what was going on. Hotch was asking Derek what happened as he began to loosen his grip, but I held him tighter and tried to wipe at my eyes and steady myself. “Don’t let go—not yet. He can’t know I was crying.”  
  
“Doctor Kimora’s suiting up and going in with Reid.” Derek reported as I finally got a hold of myself and turned to face the others. I shut the worry out, forbade the panic and grief from creeping into my system. As far as I was concerned, Spencer Reid was just a stranger stuck in an unfortunate circumstance. I would try to help him, but it wouldn’t destroy me. It couldn’t.  
  
“Are they getting him to the hospital?” Emily asked. The military men were storming the ground, going on about setting up gray zones and quarantine areas and sanitizing stations.  
  
“Nichols is dead, looks like he has been for a few days. There’s signs of a struggle—Reid was saying he thinks if a cure was made then it’ll be hidden somewhere in the room, so Kimora’s going to help him look.”  
  
“Okay, I’ll suit up and go in with Spencer and we’ll try and find out who killed Nichols.” I ripped the hair tie off of my wrist and pulled my hair into a ponytail.  
  
“No way, T-Bird.” Derek grabbed hold of my arm. “You can’t go in there.”  
  
“Morgan’s right, I don’t know if that’s the best idea.” Hotch said, eyes glued to the house where Spencer’s life ticked away.  
  
“With all due respect sir, if Doctor Kimora is safe in the suit then I will be as well; and I think we all know that two Reids work better than one.” It took everything in me not to storm away immediately and suit up myself, but I knew that to be in control was to wait for approval, to wait for confirmation that my request was okay. He stared at me with that stern look on his face for what felt like an eternity before he finally nodded. His phone rang and after checking the id he put it on speaker.  
  
“Reid?”  
  
“Hotch I really messed up this time.”  
  
“We need to get you to the hospital as soon as possible.” Hotch said.  
  
“I’m already exposed, it’s not going to do me any good to stop working the case.” I rubbed my forehead at his words. Here he was, victim of a silent killer, and he insisted on being the hero.  
  
“I’m coming in with Dr. Kimora in a few minutes.” I said as I peeled off my bulletproof vest.  
  
“What? No, you’re staying out there.”  
  
“Shut up, Spence.” I said weakly, handing my vest to Morgan and going off to find the doctor. There was a tent set up and she was stepping into the big white suit that looked exactly as it should: as if we were walking into a bio-hazard site. I quickly filled her in and she helped me into my own suit before following me into the house. When I stepped into the room Spencer was still on the phone with Hotch, shooting me a look before continuing talking.  
  
“I see cages filled with dead animals, I see signs of a struggle—probably before Dr. Nichols was murdered—equipment’s missing, there’s a large desk with clutter all over the surface but in the corner there’s a smaller desk that’s organized and functional. He has a partner, maybe even a protégé.”  
  
The orders were given and the jobs divided and when he finally ended the call I wanted nothing more than to take off the stupid, bulky, ugly plastic suit and just hold him. After everything, this could not be the end. But I settled for what little contact I could make, ignoring his feeble requests for me to leave and assuring him that I was safe inside this whale of a suit.  
  
“You can start looking around I just…I need to make a phone call.” He said quietly. I nodded, giving him some space and wandering around the room, searching for some place that looked like a good hiding spot for the cure that had to exist. I listened as he called Garcia, asking her to leave a message for his mother in case anything went wrong. My heart shattered more and more with every syllable he spoke.  
  
“Dr. Nichols is a former military scientist, which means he’s secretive and probably a little paranoid.” I said to get things moving along, to avoid at all costs the horrific elephant in the room. “He probably would’ve hidden it from his partner, don’t you think?”  
  
“Yes, so we should look for something innocuous,” Spencer said to Kimora, chest heaving as he started to cough. “Something you would least expect.”  
  
I kept focused on finding this while Spence got a call from Derek. At his request he started to wander around the room, picking up things off of Nichols desk. He started to piece together things like lesson plans spanning decades and a thesis paper that looked to be graded—things that pointed to a student as the probable protégé. Garcia was set to look up local PhD students and as they refined the search I rummaged through the desk drawer of Dr. Nichols. There wasn’t much—a couple of pens, a broken stapler, an inhaler, a calculator—but my eyes were drawn back to the inhaler and I grabbed at it with my big gloved hands as Spence coughed even more.  
  
“Spence, what do you think?” I offered up the inhaler and he nodded quickly as I handed it to Kimora to bag for the lab. She said that Spencer had to go get hosed down so they could take him to the hospital and he promised to be up in a moment, asking for a second to talk to me. “Whatever it is, save it for later. We need to get you to the hospital.”  
  
“There might not be a later, Tash.” He said seriously, rooting me to the spot. I tried to tell him that he shouldn’t say things like that, but the words caught in my throat. “Listen to me, if things don’t end well you’re with the only people in the whole world I’d trust to find Ares. You’re going to make it, okay? You’re going to be fine. I promise.”  
  
“Don’t.” I choked out, eyes welling up. “Please don’t start saying that.”  
  
“I know I don’t say it as much as I should, but I love you, you know that right?” He said as I brought him into my arms. He coughed horribly. “You’ll make it through whatever happens.”  
  
Pulling away, I tugged him up and pushed him outside towards the washing station where Dr. Kimora waited. I squeezed his hand as he went off to meet her. Derek came to my side, helping me strip off the stupid protective suit and allowing me to crush his hand in mine.  
  
“Derek, I can’t do this without him.” I admitted, turning to face him. There was a panic in my heart that was taking control of my entire body. “For the first month I was home after Ares I didn’t speak to anyone except him, not even my mother. He was the one who stopped my suicide attempts, he was the only reason the doctors didn’t put me in a goddamn psych ward—Derek if he dies I know that I will too.”  
  
“I won’t let him.” He said quietly, his grip on me the only thing keeping me upright as the worst case scenario flashed in my mind. Dr. Kimora told us when they were ready to leave for the hospital and I promised to keep Derek up to date as I clambered into the ambulance.  
  
“How are you feeling, Dr. Reid?” Kimora asked as she fiddled with the medical equipment. I kept a death grip on Spencer’s hand, pressing a towel to his head to mop up all the sweat.  
  
“My throat’s a little dry, but other than that I feel fleb…I feel fly…I feel…” He struggled to get out the proper words, a symptom of the virus’ progression. Kimora told him to relax and the driver to speed up as blood tricked down his chin. I kept my face void of all emotion; it would do nothing to make him better, only make him feel worse.  
  
I tried my best to stay out of the way as they loaded him into the hospital room, doing all they could to help but ultimately being of little use. Dr. Kimora offered to give him some morphine to help with the pain he was no doubt concealing but I politely declined, knowing damn well how close he came to addiction after the Tobias incident. I stayed with him for a while until he fell asleep, and begrudgingly left the room to call Derek.  
  
“Where are we with the case?”  
  
“Garcia got a hit on a student named Chad Brown, he’s our unsub and we’re pretty sure he’s planning an attack at the Frederick stop of the DC train line, that’s where we going now.”  
  
“Let me guess, it’s a site of rejection?”  
  
“He proposed to a girl in the park and never moved up in the book store where he first tested the strain. How’s Reid?”  
  
“He’s…he’s getting worse. Kimora said she’s doing everything she can but…” A nurse told me that I couldn’t use my cellphone because it messed with the machines so I told Derek to say anything he had to quickly.  
  
“Hotch and I are going down into the subway to stop him, he’s transporting the anthrax in lightbulbs.”  
  
“Derek Morgan, I swear to God if anything happens to you Hotch down there—”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere, baby girl. And neither is Reid.”  
  
“Be safe.”  
  
A sigh escaped me and I pocketed my phone, pulling out a few bucks to buy a coffee with, praying it would calm me down a bit having something in my system. I laid my head against the cold metal of the machine and breathed in and out, in and out, in and out, until the cup was full. I finished half of its contents before returning to Spencer, trying to remind myself that we might have a cure. Trying to forget the worst case scenario.  
  
I took a seat beside him, slipping my hand into his, sipping away at the coffee until it was empty. His hair was plastered to his forehead and every now and again he would cough, even in slumber. Part of me wanted to rouse him, to prevent any possibility of him leaving me for good on a ship of sleep—but it was too cruel a gesture. At least unconscious he couldn’t feel any pain.  
  
It wasn’t until I got up to throw away the coffee cup and went to reclaim his hand did I notice it. At first I thought it was a lesion, the kind that other victims were presenting in the worsening stages of the virus, but of course I wasn’t that lucky. There in plain sight on the back of his hand was Ares’ symbol, drawn on with the unforgiving black of a permanent marker. My heart jumped into my throat and I looked around the room, clearing it and running into the corridor to look for any signs. When I couldn’t find anyone I grabbed the closest male that looked relatively free and strong, flashing my badge and ordering him to guard the room.  
  
“I don’t give a damn if they say they’re a doctor or FBI or anything, if it’s a man you don’t let them into that room without telling me, understood?”  
  
He nodded despite the confusion and I immediately set off to sweep the floor. I hadn’t left Spencer for more than ten minutes. Long enough, I supposed, for Ares to strike. I asked a few of the nurses and even some of the visitors if they’d seen anyone who fit the description. Of course no one had: Ares had spent his life learning how to appear painstakingly normal. To be blissfully forgettable. To make his face appear honest, guiltless, the last person you’d ever pick out in a lineup.  
  
Knowing Spencer would’ve been dead if Ares wanted it so, I calmed down for the moment and retreated into the bathroom to try and figure out what my next move should be. Resting my head on the wall behind me, I slid down it and drew my knees up to my chest. I was powerless. Completely and utter useless. I was the ant challenging the boot, the deer chasing the cheetah, the morphine battling the anthrax. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I collected myself before answering.  
  
“Natasha Reid.”  
  
“We got Brown,” Hotch began. “Have you talked to Dr. Kimora?”  
  
“Not since we got here, why?”  
  
“She was looking for you, they did find a cure and she’s going to give it to Reid. I’m assuming you aren’t with him at the moment, then?”  
  
“Aaron…he came here.” I said quietly, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying; partly from relief that Spencer would be okay and partly because one fear had only been replaced with another. “Ares. I left Spence to get a coffee and when I came back he had the mark drawn on his hand. I did a sweep but I couldn’t find anything and no one remembered seeing him and I just—I can’t lose him.”  
  
“Morgan is on his way to the hospital, we’ll go at this again tomorrow from the top.”  
  
“Hotch…Is he targeting Spence?”  
  
“I don’t know, Natasha.” He admitted. “We’ll fix this. For now, just make sure you’re there when Reid wakes up.”  
  
We exchanged brief goodbyes and I took a minute to compose myself before finally getting to my feet and leaving the refuge of the bathroom. I heard the unmistakeable voice of Derek booming through the hall as I edged closer. He was yelling at the kid I’d assigned as guard duty, preparing to get physical as I called out to him, thanking the kid and telling him he could leave before explaining everything. He sighed, taking my hand as we walked inside. Dr. Kimora came in shortly after and administered the cure. I thanked her before she left to move on to the few patients still alive from the day’s initial strike.  
  
I got some paper towels, lathering them up with soap and watering and rushing to scrub the mark off of his hand to the best of my ability. His skin turned red from all the scrubbing, and even so there was still a faint mark there. There would be no hiding it.  
  
When Spencer finally came around I barely gave him a moment to breathe before wrapping my arms around him, struggling to keep composure as I thought about what a life without him would have meant. He let me hold him, let me make him my surrogate, let me baby him despite the fact that he would in fact be fine and healthy and ready to go home in no time. When we left I thanked Dr. Kimora a thousand times over.  
  
Despite Hotch’s promises, I knew that if it came down to it I would give myself up if it meant saving Spence.


	16. Crossdale Park

_"Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it." – Terry Pratchett_

* * *

  
  
The call had come when everyone was getting ready to head out. Morgan was bugging me about taking too long, saying he was going to leave without me and force one of the others to “drive my ass home.” I was punching him when Penelope came rushing in. It was hard to understand her at first, she was rambling so much about the events leading up to the phone call, but Morgan calmed her down and she got out a few coherent thoughts.  
  
“JJ asked the local PD and media to notify me immediately if there was any mention of anything related to Greek stuff and the Virginia Star just got an anonymous call about the fall of Athens happening in Crossdale park.”  
  
My heart skipped a beat as Hotch began to direct everyone, the team moving out in groups and instructions on how to proceed being delivered. A panic grew within me as I contemplated the possibility of something going wrong: or more, going _right._ What if we caught him tonight? It could all be over. Or it could all go horribly wrong and everything would go to shit.  
  
That seemed about right.  
  
I buried my cynicism as we pulled into the park, taking a deep breath and drawing my gun. My place tonight was clear: stay in the middle of the group. I was the fragile china doll in this earthquake of a situation; I was to be flanked at all times by a body with a loaded weapon. I was not to do anything rash or stupid. I had to keep my head. _I had to keep my head._  
  
For a group of seven professionally trained FBI agents and a host of police, one of us should have been able to sense something was up from the get-go. We weren’t called here by chance, of course, and we knew that. But I don’t think anyone properly thought out what was orchestrated by Ares. When we made it to a clearing—the main area of the park—we were greeted by two awaiting gunmen.  
  
The pair of them were clad in identical clothing: black pants and sweaters—hoods drawn, just like their weapons. Ares and Deimos. But one of the figures was shaking a little. Phobos and Deimos? No, I’d killed Phobos. I stabbed him in the heart. Whoever it was, they were bad news. But it didn’t matter—it was two against fifteen. There was no way they were getting out of this. _So why the suicide mission?_ They were commanded to lower their weapons, both of them, and get down on their knees. Hands behind their heads. The same commands, over and over from so many different voices. And they never bothered to obey. They didn’t have to. They had a plan.  
  
It was somewhere close—this huge force that sent us all stumbling to the ground. After I was thrown onto the ground I heard the noise, this ridiculously loud booming; it felt like a bass line in a too-loud movie theatre multiplied tenfold. The brightness of the explosion illuminated the night sky, and my ears began to ring as I tried to get my bearings. I was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened when I remembered—Deimos and Phobos. Pushing myself up on my elbows, my head stopped spinning enough for me to see the hooded figures running towards the forest line. The one further away, his hood fell down as he got to his feet. I squinted to see him through the darkness, but immediately regretted doing do. It was a familiar face; I knew him. This, however, was not the alarming sight—what was worse was seeing Spencer get to his feet and begin to chase after them. My heart spurred into a frenzy and I tried to get up.  
  
“ _Spencer!_ ” I cried out, stumbling twice before finding enough traction to get to my feet. Someone called out for me to stop, but all thoughts of rationality or protocol were gone the second Spence made it to the tree line. It would have been impossible to see anything if it wasn’t for the fire burning through whatever it had been set on; this obtuse orange glow showering down around us and illuminating random glimpses of a shoulder, knee, arm.  
  
It was difficult work keeping my footing; there were countless roots reaching out to try and hinder me. I saved my breath, knowing that the motivation pushing Spencer on would not be quelled by my pleas for him to stop. All I could do was keep close on his heels and push on. I knew that Ares was out there somewhere; and that at any moment he could reach out from the cover of darkness and take me, just as he did before. When Spencer’s life was at stake, these were things I just couldn’t afford to care about. I couldn’t think about the faster runner, the one I’d known, the one who called himself Deimos but was—  
  
Without warning, Spencer barreled forward and tackled the slower one, pinning him to the ground. I stopped suddenly, rushing to raise my gun to the boy but struggling against the desire to chase and the desire to protect. I didn’t have it in me to leave Spencer here. He knelt on the boy’s back, prepping his hands for the cuffs I offered. We pulled him to his feet and moved the hood back enough to see his face, but immediately I knew something was wrong.  
  
“Oh god, oh god, oh god—please—please don’t kill me, oh god! Please, they told me they’d pay me! Don’t kill me!” The kid was shaking, his eyes hollowed out with lack of sleep and his skeletal frame that of an addict’s. He was bait.  
  
“Tell me your name!” Spencer yelled.  
  
“J-Jeremy Gornit! Please, I swear I didn’t know what was going to happen!”  
  
The others caught up with us and I shook my head to tell them this wasn’t our guy. As we all stood there the reality of everything was hitting me, and after the fear I became angry. Spencer demanded one of the officers to get Gornit out of his sight, and as soon as he let go I turned on him.  
  
“ _Are you out of your goddamn mind?_ ” I yelled. “What part of you thought that running after them was a good idea?!”  
  
“Stop yelling at me!” He roared irritably.  
  
“I’ll stop yelling when you get your head on straight! It’s me he’s after, Spencer; he doesn’t care about you. Don’t you get it? He’ll kill you if it means he can take me so don’t be so stupid next time!”  
  
“Okay, Tash let’s take a walk.” Derek offered.  
  
“I don’t need to take a walk, I need to talk to Garcia.” I said, turning completely from Spencer and beginning to walk away. My head was spinning with everything that had just happened. Deimos was gone. Ares was out there somewhere. But Spencer was safe. Making stupid decisions, but safe.  
  
“Why?” Derek asked. I stopped, heaving out a sigh and turning back to them as I rubbed the sides of my head.  
  
“It was Luke. Deimos—the one who got away, it’s Luke Evans. The guy I dated in university. I saw him.”  
  
The team let me walk ahead of them on our way back to the cars, and I silently thanked them for not trying to give me sympathy. I had no use for it. In my heart I knew that I was wrong in yelling at Spence, he was just trying to look out for me by, essentially, catching one of the guys tormenting me. How could I blame him for that? Because I could never live with myself if something happened to him at the hands of one of them. The world needed Spencer Reid, whether they knew it or not. There would be time for apologies, though.  
  
A fire engine drove past me as I made it to the cars, their wailing sirens hurting my ears. In light of catching Gornit I’d forgotten entirely about the explosion, but it was long-since over and so I crawled into the front of one of the SUVs. Shortly after the rest of the team made it back, Rossi taking the driver’s seat as the others got into the remaining vehicles. Rossi spared me the stupid question of asking if I was okay or the questionable promise that everything was okay. He just placed his hand on my shoulder for a moment before starting up the car and leading the way back to headquarters.  
  
How I hadn’t known that Luke was Deimos was beyond me. How was I supposed to have any faith in my skills anymore if I’d been romantically involved with one of the men responsible for my torture? If I looked into his face for all that time and couldn’t see who he was? The thing that was bothering me even more than that, though, was why on earth he got together with me in the first place. He had all that time to kidnap me again on Ares’ orders, so why didn’t he? What was the ulterior motive, the hidden agenda, the big secret?  
  
I kept turning over these thoughts again and again as I followed the procession of FBI agents and cops into the building, Jeremy leading the line pushed on by an officer. He was put immediately into the second interrogation room and promptly left alone. Rossi stayed at my side, eyeing me now and again as the team slowly gathered into a circle awaiting instructions.  
  
“Dave, I think you should lead the interrogation.” Hotch said. Rossi nodded, peeling off his vest and cueing the rest of us to follow suit. Hotch listing off instructions for everyone else as Rossi made his way towards the interrogation room. Upon request I headed towards Garcia’s office, knocking before being beckoned inside.  
  
“Hey Pen.”  
  
“What can I do you for, my queen?” She smiled, rolling over to her desk. I grabbed a chair and joined her.  
  
“I need you to look up a name for me. Lucas Charles Evans, born…uh, June18th, 1979.” She nodded once, her fingers flying across the keyboard and occasionally moving to the mouse.  
  
“I’ll need a bit more than that, dearest.”  
  
“He was a sophomore at UNLV in 1999, emigrated from England.” The more she typed, the more little boxes came up on her screen and the more her eyebrows furrowed.  
  
“I’ve got nothing.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nada, no record of anyone with that name ever attending that University.” She looked up at me with concern. “I’ll expand the search to try and find—”  
  
“Nevermind.” I got to my feet, confusion and anger swelling within me as I headed for the door. “Thanks for the help, Pen.”  
  
“Anytime!”  
  
It didn’t surprise me to find the rest of the team in the observation room, studying Jeremy as Rossi tried to get something useful out of him. I relayed Garcia’s findings, positing that he’d probably used a fake name and documents. Spencer was standing off to the side, hands in his pockets. He offered me a half-hearted smile that made me feel like complete shit. I was totally out of line yelling at him like that. I walked over to him, pulling a blade of grass from his hair.  
  
“I’m sorry Spence. I never should have yelled.”  
  
“You worry too much, Tash.” He smiled. I shook my head, laughing lightly before pulling him into a hug. Part of me threatened to break down but I knew that it was neither the time nor place.  
  
“Has he said anything yet?”  
  
Spencer relayed Jeremy’s story verbatim; how he’d been looking for a dealer when two guys drove into the alley and offered him $2000 to help them. He was supposed to stand with a gun and black hoodie as backup. He swore he knew nothing about any cops or FBI or killings or anything. He was just looking for a way to get his next fix.  
  
Rossi had been riling him up, taking the offensive as he hammered out questions at the boy, smashing his fist on the table in intervals. The kid was shaking. Everyone was coming to the conclusion that this wasn’t going to get us anywhere; we wouldn’t learn anything this way. My head still swarming with thoughts of Luke—Deimos—whatever, I knew I had to preoccupy myself. I asked Hotch if I could give it a try, and traded spots with Rossi. Taking a seat, I let the kid calm down a bit before introducing myself. I needed to connect with him on a human level. I didn’t think Jeremy was bad, just suffering from an addiction. There was compassion in there somewhere, and I needed to find it.  
  
“Jeremy, I know you didn’t do anything wrong on purpose, okay?” He looked up at me, eyes dilated as he bit at the skin around his nails. “Do you have a sister?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Is your mother still alive?” He nodded. “Do you love her?”  
  
“Of course I do!” He roared. I took a determined breath and prepared to give as much sincerity as I could. I needed him to feel comfortable, to establish a rapport with him, to let him know that unlike Rossi I wasn’t here to accuse him of anything.  
  
“Then I’d like you to listen closely. Imagine that someone took her and beat her, tortured her, raped her. Wouldn’t you want to do anything you could to help her?” The thoughts I’d put in his head were alarming him and his eyebrows turned down more and more. He nodded once, though, and so I reached across the table and took his hands in mine. “The men you were with did bad things to me, Jeremy. I need you to try and remember anything you can about them. Will you do that for me?”  
  
For the first time he looked up at me, this puppet of a boy whose hands shook lightly in my grasp. Withdrawl. He kept blinking quickly, teeth grinding in his mouth and occasionally peeking out to rip the skin from his lips. He hadn’t shaved in weeks, but he probably hadn’t had a decent meal in longer. I didn’t smile at him, although it might have helped, because I was still so put off that nothing had come back on Luke; but there would be a time to chastise myself, and it wasn’t now. After what felt like an eternity, Jeremy nodded.  
  
“W-What do you wanna know?”  
  
“Anything. Did they say their names at all?”  
  
“I…I don’t think so, no.” This distressed him, but I kept a firm grip on his hands so he wouldn’t disappear on me.  
  
“What about a...a car, or something, did they drive there?”  
  
“Yeah, it was a um…a truck, a big black truck. A Ford, maybe? I…I don’t know…”  
  
“This is really good, Jeremy.” I said hopefully, moving my thumb over the back of his hand. He looked up at me with doubt in his eyes and I smiled. “Do you remember seeing the plate at all?”  
  
“I can’t…I don’t know man, I was just waiting to get my friggen fix!” He began to recoil but I pulled him back, pleading for him to try and remember. He put his head down, thinking for a while before slowly shaking his head. He mumbled an apology and I released his hands, defeat filling me. Another loss. I got to my feet and headed for the door, opening it half way before he called me back, a wild look in his eyes. “2…2PML. Nevada plate. That’s—It’s all I can remember.”  
  
“Thank you.” I said honestly, my stomach knotting up as the rest of the team met me outside of the room. JJ was instructed to put out an APB on any pickup trucks with plates ending in 2PML. Rossi went back into the interrogation room to try and get more out of Jeremy while the rest of us headed to Penelope’s office. She wasn’t accustomed to having so many people in there with her at once, but once she got past that she was quick in her work. She entered the plate, narrowing it down to pickup trucks registered in Nevada. She got 14 hits, and at Spencer’s suggestion she narrowed it down to cars registered in the past 20 years, and then to Ford models only. We were left with 6 possibles.  
  
I was burning to find out his name. Some part of me believed that if I just knew this, if I could just prove some element of him was forced to be relatively human, then maybe we would find him. Maybe he would be caught and tried and put away for life. A name: that was all I needed. Some confirmation that he wasn’t a Greek god able to elude the justice system for decades from some divine power—just a man with enough intelligence.  
  
Penelope pulled up the six pictures and my eyes flew across the screen, drawn to the face I’d never quite learned how to forget. It sent a shiver through me, having to look at him, even though he looked different. Older, definitely, and he wasn’t clean shaven in his picture. But those eyes would never change: they were just as dead and hollow as they’d been seventeen years ago. My head began to spin and I gripped the back of Penelope’s chair to steady myself, clearing my throat before finding the courage to speak.  
  
“Number five. That’s him.” I said quietly as Penelope singled out his photograph and records on the screen. Number five—Mars—the fifth planet in our galaxy, the symbol of Ares. He wasn’t smiling in his license picture, but I didn’t need to see it to remember it. That sick, toothy, twisted smile that had plagued me for months. It sent a shudder through me and I suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable, as if even six floors up in an FBI building he could find me.  
  
“Anton Gustav Miller, age 44, he was charged with arson at 13 and apparently suspected of animal cruelty although he was never formally charged.” She rambled on all these facts that somehow still didn’t help him seem human. “He majored in Greek Studies at college. Mother and father divorced when he was six, nine years later his mother died from a drug overdose and he was placed in an orphanage. No known properties other than the truck, had a hard time keeping a job. He…oh dear…”  
  
“What is it?” Hotch pressed, scrutinizing the screen. Garcia stuttered a bit before forcing out the words.  
  
“He…uh, he worked for the catering company that was under contract with Natasha’s university…while she was studying there.”  
  
My stomach threatened to eject my lunch and I turned away, fleeing from the sight of Ares and heading for my desk. Anton Miller. It sounded too plain, as if it undermined the severity of his crimes. I rummaged around the drawers of my desk until I found the Tylenol, swallowing one to try and soothe the headache that was coming on. How stupid I’d been to think I’d ever actually escaped. Why he never took me again was beyond me when he clearly knew where I was. Maybe it was just some sick game to him, and he was just biding his time until he felt like stealing me again.  
  
“Natasha.” Rossi called out from his office. “Come here for a minute.”  
  
The rest of the team made it back as I begrudgingly ascended the stairs and headed towards Rossi. I tried to fathom how much more bad news I could hear. Yes, we found Ares’ name, but that didn’t get us any closer to finding him. It might not even be his real name. David moved aside to let me in and gently closed the door behind him. He sat down on the couch and motioned for me to join him as he took a deep breath.  
  
“I’m worried about you, kid.”  
  
“I know I shouldn’t have run after Spencer. I’m sorry, I really am trying to stay as rational and collected during this thing but—”  
  
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” I looked up at him, confused. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he’d been told about the recent discovery. I was sure I was here because he was worried that in light of finding out about Luke and the school thing I wouldn’t be able to hold it together. I would become a danger to the team, and a danger to myself. “What you’re going through…no one expects you to be okay with it, Natasha. I’m worried because you seem to think it’s wrong to be upset about these things.”  
  
“How am I supposed to do this job if I can’t control myself?”  
  
“No one here doubts your ability to do this job—it’s not in question. But I need to know that you understand that none of us will criticize you for responding. You’re allowed to cry or yell or ask to talk or take some time off. You’re allowed to be affected.”  
  
I put my face in my hands, trying not to wail as the tears escaped. There was such a heaviness in my heart, it held me down like straight jacket and cemented me to the couch as I cried. It didn’t make sense, nothing was fair. I should have known who Luke was. I should have seen Ares and recognized him. I should have caught him years ago and then Arlene and Stacy would be alive.  
  
No matter what I told myself, I just wasn’t prepared for any of this.  
  
Rossi put an arm around me as I continued to cry, failing miserably at stopping. He shushed me gently, turning me so that he could hold me properly as I sobbed into his shoulder. It was so much, _too_ much to handle at once. I’d been with Luke for _two years_ —how the hell could I not have seen that it was him? Had I paid so little attention those four months? If I was wrong about him then what other details was I messing up on? And Ares—Anton—my demon shadow. Following me wherever I went. How many days, I wondered, did he sit in the shadows of the cafeteria and watch me laugh and smile and flirt with and kiss his acutely crafted criminal, his prestigious protégé? I tried not to imagine the pleasure he got from always knowing where I was and who I was with; but his name just kept echoing in my head over and over and over again.  
  
There was a knock on the door and Rossi told whoever it was to give us a minute. I took my time composing myself, but I knew there was no chance in hell of hiding the tears. My eyes would be red and puffy, I would still be sniffling, just overall a walking billboard. Rossi waited until I was ready and opened the door to a nail-biting Spencer. He straightened up from his spot against the railing, hands diving into his pockets as he offered a smile.  
  
“C’mon, I’ll take you home.” He said, motioning for me to follow him. I thanked David and followed after Spencer, pausing at my desk to gather my things and ignoring the side-cast glances from the others. I was half-tempted to remind them of their promise to cut the victim crap, but I would be out of their sight soon enough.  
  
When we got to my apartment Spencer talked his way into crashing for the night, despite my promises that I was just fine. We cooked up a small dinner together—and by together I mean I cooked and he managed to burn a pot of kraft dinner and set off the fire alarm. I was washing the dishes afterwards as he put the leftovers away in the fridge and the dry dishes away in their assigned places. He made a joke about being one step shy of needing to label the cupboards so I flicked a bit of water at him.  
  
Calling out in shock, he recoiled from the gesture like a temperamental cat before cupping his hand under the tap and throwing it at me. I gaped at him as the water dripped down my head. In the span of a few seconds he went from his childish laughter to body-binding fear at the realization of what he’d started. I grabbed the sprayer attachment and took aim, drenching him with the coldest water the tap would allow. He screamed and ran forward, wrestling the hose around until it was spraying me. We continued like this for a bit until I had the sense to flee to the bathroom. He knocked on the door, proposing a truce as I filled up the soap dish with water.  
  
“Alright…” I said, opening the door and stepping aside to avoid any attack. Only one of us was plotting, though, and so when he stepped in unarmed and was met with one final attack, I couldn’t help but shake my head. “You know Spencer, for a genius you can be pretty stupid sometimes.”


	17. Fight or Flight

_"Without heroes we are all plain people and don't know how far we can go." – Bernard Malamud_

* * *

  
“Spencer, put that down.” I shook my head at him but indulged him in a smile as he set the warden’s snow globe back on his desk. Hotch had brought the two of us to Connecticut to interview a death-row inmate as part of the Criminal Personality research project going on at the BAU. He was scheduled to be executed in less than a week, and we were hoping to get a few details about his case cleared up. It was him who called us, though, offering the sit-down. Maybe he was finally seeing the error of his ways.  
  
“Agent Hotchner?” A man walked in the room holding a case file and extended his hand to the three of us. “And you must be the Reids. Adam Merriman, assistant warden. You’re here to see our infamous inmate Hardwick?”  
  
“He agreed to meet with us before his execution.” Spencer explained as the warden looked at him with excitement.  
  
“I’ve read some of your journals on criminology. Killers are a kind of hobby of mine.” Merriman gushed as I exchanged a glance with Hotch. The warden began to ramble on but Hotch cut him off quickly.  
  
“Sir we’d really like to get started as quickly as we can.”  
  
“Oh, of course. Forgive me.” He started to explain how the prison had no formal interrogation room but there was a place he’d set up for us to use. “You’re not armed, are you?”  
  
“We secured our weapons already, it’s not our first time in a prison.” I had to contain my smile at Hotch being snarky.  
  
“No, I guess it’s not.” He laughed, leading us to the door. “I have to say that when I heard he contacted you I was surprised…Chester Hardwick, he doesn’t talk much. To anyone.”  
  
“Well, that usually changes when someone’s about to die.” Hotch said in an attempt to get a move on. I nudged Spencer ahead so that we all started walking. Merriman lead us to a small room with one tiny window. On the table there was a box with Hardwick’s case files that Spencer was rifling through as the warden gave us the layout of the room.  
  
“The door will of course be locked from the outside and this button here sounds audibly as well as triggers the flashing lights to signal the guards when you’re finished.”  
  
“Thank you.” I nodded to the warden in an attempt to get him to leave. However he crept closer to the files Spencer was lying out and eyeballed them with morbid curiosity.  
  
“Are these the crime scene photos?”  
  
“Yes some of them.” Spencer said, completely oblivious to the irritation shared by Hotch and me. Merriman held up the photos and stared at them with awe.  
  
“God…I knew what he did but I…never saw…23 victims like this….”  
  
“Sometimes in these interviews they talk about crimes they were never charged with so there might even be more.” Spencer informed him. I took a step towards the warden and held my hand out for the photos.  
  
“Giving this kind of attention to them may be detrimental to what we’re trying to understand. We’d like to let him show us what’s important here.” I said gently as he nodded and gave me the photos. There was a loud buzz and the door opened, revealing the man himself bound in restrains and clad in a bright yellow suit. He had a smug look on his face as he was escorted in. One of the guards asked if the chains were to be left on.  
  
“Yeah, I—I think that’s a good idea.” Spencer said quietly, but Hotch overruled him.  
  
“No, they won’t be necessary.” Hotch said as I crossed over to Spencer’s side, all of the guards filing out of the room and leaving us alone. “We’re just going to talk, right Chester? Sit down.”  
  
“I’d like this window opened.” He said, staring at the grey brick wall outside the glass. “I’ll answer any question you have, but only if this window is open.”  
  
“Go ahead.” Hotch allowed before turning to me and motioning for me to begin.  
  
“You were born April 4, 1950?” I asked.  
  
“Does my birthday really matter?”  
  
“It’s customary for us to start at the beginning, we want to know as much as we can about your childhood.” Spencer explained.  
  
“There’s nothing to know, it was average. I lived in a nice house on a quiet street. I ate cereal, I went to school, I watched cartoons.”  
  
“I don’t have time for this.” Hotch said sternly as Spencer and I looked over at him. “You didn’t live in a nice house on a quiet street, you grew up in a series of projects in east Bridgeport, each one worse than the last. You spent your teenage years peeping in your female neighbour’s windows and burglarizing their underwear drawers when you got the chance. And you started a hundred small fires for which you spent 2 years in a juvenile detention.”  
  
“We’ve done extensive research, Mr. Hardwick. We’ve talked to almost everyone you’ve ever known…including your mother.” When I said this he finally peeled himself away from the window. He stared at me for a few moments too long, eyes going up and down my form quickly before the smirk settled back on his face.  
  
“Good ol’ Jean? I bet she was a real treat.”  
  
“Good old Jean is down the street in a state hospital.” Hotch said bluntly.  
  
“At this point, lying to us isn’t really possible.” Spencer shrugged. “Or helpful.”  
  
“Well then, you’re wrong.” Hardwick spat.  
  
“About what?” I pushed.  
  
“I started a lot more than a hundred fires.” He took a few steps towards the table, meeting my eyes again before sitting down and crossing his arms, turning his attention to Hotch. “What do you want to know? How papa beat me and Jean’s ass every single day? That the kind of thing you want to hear?”  
  
“If it’s true.” Spencer said quietly. Hardwick turned to him and narrowed his eyes.  
  
“Nobody gives a damn about the truth.” He got up and went back to the window and started talking about the weather, the seasons and the temperature. Spencer remarked about the summer coming soon.  
  
“But not for you.” Hotch added, his irritation with Hardwick plain. We’d come here for a reason, not to talk about the weather.  
  
“No…not for me.” Hardwick turned around again, facing Hotch. The two of them started a staring match, this combative gesture of two alpha males. The feel of this interview was beginning to turn darker, and so in an attempt to fix things I tried to get us back on track.  
  
“Let’s talk about the specifics of the case. Why did you choose Sheila O’Neil?”  
  
“You gotta show me a picture.” He smiled, blinking at me. “I don’t know the names.”  
  
“Is that what this is about?” Hotch challenged. “Some chance to relive all of this?”  
  
“I have an excellent memory. I thought you wanted to know the truth. Truth is they meant nothing to me. They were toys, a diversion; and from the moment I decided to kill them they were dead.” He turned, eyes fixed on me as I grew more uncomfortable. “They begged and cried and it didn’t matter because they didn’t matter. Sometimes I wish I was normal, that I’d had a regular life. But I didn’t.”  
  
“Why did you ask us here?” Hotch asked, exasperated. Once Hardwick’s eyes were finally off me, I looked over at spencer. His hands were under the table and he was fiddling with the edge of his sweater.  
  
“I wanted to smell the air.” Hardwick said simply. “They’ve got me on death watch. 24 hour a day isolation. And I will be until they take me to the death chamber. So I wanted to smell the air one last time before I die. Thank you for giving me that.”  
  
“Let’s pack it up.” Hotch ordered, shutting down Spencer’s questioning for continuing. I pulled the folders together, putting them into a pile as Spencer strung his bag over his shoulder. Hotch walked up to the door, pressing the buzzer twice. “Have a nice trip, Chester. You’re going where you belong.”  
  
“It’s 5:17.” Hardwick said as I waited by the door beside Hotch. “Evening hour started at 5:00. Guard staff’s outside with the population. There won’t be anyone to open that door for…at _least_ thirteen minutes.” He held up a picture of one of his victims and looked at me with a smile. “And it took me less than five to do this.”  
  
At this, my heart stopped. For a moment I couldn’t even believe this was real. It had to be some bad joke on the warden’s part. The serial killer who harmed me in my childhood had resurfaced, finally had a name, and my ex-boyfriend and almost-husband from university was his accomplice: yet I was going to be murdered by this guy? It almost made me laugh, but then I remembered the severity of the situation. I reached forward and grabbed a hold of Spencer’s arm, pulling him behind me. He was looking over at Hotch with panic in his eyes as Hardwick continued.  
  
“While you were doing all your research perhaps you should have looked in to the security tones.”  
  
“I heard the tones.” Hotch replied, taking a step forward in front of me. Hardwick was pacing the room, rubbing his hands in preparation for whatever he was about to do.  
  
“So you _planned_ to be locked in here with me with no guns or weapons.”  
  
“I won’t need any weapons.” Hotch said, reaching one arm back and pushing me sideways, nudging me towards the other side of the room. Keeping Spencer behind me I steered us to the corner farthest away from Hardwick.  
  
“There’s no _way_ they’ll execute me next week after I murder three FBI agents. You saved my life by coming here!”  
  
“But unfortunately for you, I’m not a 5 foot tall, hundred pound girl.” Hotch said, taking a step forward and removing his jacket. I could hear Spencer’s shaky breath, mere decibels louder than the thumping of my heart. Hotch was going to fight him, defend Spencer and me from this psychopath. Save me for the second time.  
  
“We have to do something.” I whispered to Spencer as his fingers began tapping—his nervous twitch.  
  
“Your whole life you’ve gone after victims that couldn’t fight back. And the rest of the time you spent looking over your shoulder.” Hotch proceeded to slip off his tie, this unprecedented anger and hatred seeping into his voice. “Worried about the knock on the door. Scared that somebody like me would be on the other side ready to put you away. At your core, you’re a _coward_.”  
  
“Chester!” I called out as he drew close to Hotch, a growl escaping his mouth. “Do you want to know why you killed those women?”  
  
“What?” He huffed, torn between the desire to listen and the desire to fight.  
  
“Earlier you said you wish that you were different.” I was praying that Spencer had some explanation in his head because I was just stalling. “I can tell you why you killed them. Why you are what you are.”  
  
“You can tell me why I did the things I did?” He challenged, looming closer. Hotch was quick to cross the room and stand before me, halting Chester but not stopping him from holding my eyes.  
  
“Your mother’s bi-polar.” Spencer chimed in as I kept my face void of emotion, bereft of fear. “And almost certainly an undifferentiated schizophrenic. Your father suffered severe shell-shock in the war, what we now refer to as post-traumatic stress disorder. As far as I can tell he remained depressed the rest of his life. Fifty-three percent of all serial killers have some mental illness in their family, and in your case, both your parents suffered from psychological disorders which they largely took out on you. They beat each other as much as they beat you.”  
  
He continued on talking—stalling—rambling on about the hypothalamus and underdeveloped sections of the brain. He explained the influence of parents in childhood development and with every statistic the primitive quality of Hardwick’s anger diminished. His eyes drifted and my panic decreased as Spencer’s words got through to him.  
  
“Earlier you said your victims never had a chance. I think deep down, it was you who never really had a chance.”  
  
There was a jingling of keys and the door was opened. The guards entered, looking around and moving towards Hardwick. I released a quiet sigh of relief. Hotch assured the guards that everything was alright before gathering his jacket and tie and announcing we were finished. I ushered Spencer out the door in front of me, but Hardwick got in one last question.  
  
“Is that true? I never had a chance?”  
  
“I don’t know, maybe.” Spencer said, rushing out of the room. I kept him close at my side as we walked through the prison. I took care of thanking the warden and promising him we could show ourselves out. When we got back in the car it was much quieter than usual, the awkward silence always a puzzling phenomenon to Spencer. Every time I peered at him in the rear view mirror he looked perplexed.  
  
We all stayed quiet until we got onto the plane. Spencer took his usual seat off on his own and pulled out a book, lifting the window cover so the fading sunlight illuminated the pages. Hotch was looking over a case file and I left him on his own for a while but eventually left Spencer’s side and took the seat across from him.  
  
“You okay?” I set my own book down on the table, careful not to cover any of his papers. He looked up at me for a moment before returning his eyes to the pages.  
  
“Yeah. I think it’s safe to say I lost it a little in there.”  
  
“Hey, there’s a first for everything.” I teased, earning the smallest of smiles. He set the file down and sat back in the chair, looking out the window at the ant-like city beneath us. “I wanted to thank you, though. For…you know, willing to fight and all.”  
  
“I’m just glad you and Reid are quick thinkers.”  
  
“Hotch.” I gave him a look for trying to evade my words of gratitude. He smiled at me, a whole one, and blinked once.  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
“Besides, it would’ve been pretty anti-climactic if Chester Hardwick beat Anton Miller to the whole murdering me bit.”  
  
“I _will_ find him, Natasha.” He said sternly. It was my turn to give him a half-hearted smile. I got to my feet, grabbing my book and retreating to the seat I’d partially claimed. Spencer had nodded off and I pulled a blanket off of the couch and draped it across him, taking the book from his hands and laying it on the table beside him. Curling up on the chair I opened my book, but my eyes found their way outside as I thought about Miller. I couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was wrong in his promise.  
  


* * *

  
I dragged myself up the stairs to Hotch’s office door, so ready for sleep. I knocked twice, as I always did, and poked my head in. He was on the phone but waved me in as I held out the report for him to take. He moved the phone away from his mouth but kept an ear pressed to it. I explained what it was and he thanked me.  
  
“Is that right, buddy?” I realized he was talking to Jack and smiled, eyes falling to the new picture in a shiny frame sitting beside the phone—the one I took of Jack in his superhero costume. “Yes. Okay, I’ll ask—he wants to talk to you.”  
  
He handed the receiver to me and I didn’t bother to contain my grin, pulling up a chair and bringing the phone up to my ear. “Is this superman?!” I teased, thumbing the picture frame.  
  
“Nooo, it’s Jack!”  
  
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot about your secret identity. You know, I know superman can stay up late but 9:00—that’s too late for Jack! Shouldn’t you be in bed, mister?”  
  
“Auntie Jess said I could stay up and call daddy.”  
  
“That’s awful nice of her, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yeah.” He said dismissively, as if building up to something more important. “When are you going to play with me again?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know, sweetie pie.” I looked over at Hotch, a small smile on his face as he filled in the part of the conversation he couldn’t hear. “That all depends on your dad. You should ask him.”  
  
“Sometimes he doesn’t let me do fun things.” I could practically hear the pout in his voice.  
  
“Well, honey, that’s because he loves you very much and he wants to make sure you’re safe. In fact, he has a lovely picture of you that he keeps on his desk where it’s safe.”  
  
“He protects it?”  
  
“It’s what he does best.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking about this. I could hear his heavy breathing, a calm pace in and out, in and out, until he settled on his question.  
  
“You help daddy fight the bad guys, right?”  
  
“I sure do, buddy.”  
  
“Does he protect you too?” The question struck something within me, and for a moment I didn’t reply. I stuttered for a moment before finally finding the words.  
  
“Yes, he protects me too.” Every part of me wanted to look up at Hotch out of reflex, but I restrained myself. I suddenly felt very exposed and confined at the same time, and I knew I needed to flee to the sanctuary of my home. It was Rossi’s shift tonight and he was usually pretty good at leaving whenever I asked; he wasn’t a workaholic like Hotch. Like me. “Now you should get some sleep, okay sweetie? I’m going to give you back to your dad.”  
  
“Night N’tasha.” He said after a yawn.  
  
“Night, Jack.” I handed the phone back to Hotch, wasting no time in waiting around for the phone call to end and exiting the office. Just next door Rossi was sitting at his desk, struggling with a Rubik’s cube. The sight put me at ease, made me smile even, as he turned his attention up to me.  
  
“Whatever gene it is that you Reids have, you’ll make millions when you isolate and sell it.” He promised, shaking the cube at me with each word before tossing it into a drawer and getting to his feet. “Ready to go?”  
  
“So long as you are.”  
  
“I’m always ready to leave this place.” He joked, offering a smile as we rounded up our things and headed towards the elevator. We made small talk for the duration of the trip, both of us no doubt thanking whoever the hell had finally gotten around to fixing the elevator in my building. Rossi did a quick sweep of my apartment before reminding me, as he always did, that I had his number and leaving me to my own devices.  
  
For a moment I just stood there, basking in the silence of the place, before moving around to get ready for a nice early bedtime. It was quarter to ten when I settled under the covers, my body ready for sleep but my mind racing—about things it shouldn’t be. Why on earth was some part of me secretly happier on the nights when Hotch was on guard duty? How did simple words like good morning, good job, and good night make me feel like a love-struck preteen girl? It went beyond stupid things, though. I had been honest when Jack asked if Hotch protected me: he did. And perhaps that was, above all else, why I so greatly craved to be near him. At the end of the day, it was where I felt safest. He’d prevented my kidnapping in this very building, he didn’t treat me like a poor little girl victimized by her childhood trauma, and even today he was willing to take a beating in order to protect not only me but the person who mattered most to me.  
  
With a sigh I buried my face into my pillow. I was reading into things too much—and I needed to re-establish my own damn boundaries. He was my _boss_. It had only been a few years since Hotchner had to listen to his wife being killed by a serial killer he’d failed to catch. It wasn’t like a break up or spiteful thing, he had lost her and blamed himself. That wasn’t exactly the thing someone got over quickly. Every time he saw Jack he was probably reminded of her, and I was not at all trying to replace her. I needed to get over it.  
  
In the absence of giving time to matters of my heart, I was burdened with matters of my mind. Luke. I still hated myself for having been so oblivious to it all, but no matter how many times I called myself an idiot, he was still out there and things weren’t going to change. I kept turning this fact over and over in my head: I had never once in all that time suspected him to be lying to me. It’s one thing to keep a part of your life hidden—a girl on the side, a racist grandparent, a mild addiction—but to bury yourself entirely…how had he managed?  
  
He had never once dropped the accent. He had every piece of identification you could need, a steady job and his own apartment off campus. He never displayed any dominant or worrying traits—but then again, Deimos had been the more submissive of the two boys. Things made sense, though, when I thought about the night in Paris. Perhaps some part of him was more human than the others: maybe some part of him cared about my existence for a fraction of time and it was Ares who drew him back to his side upon understanding this. Regardless, I knew if we ever caught him I would not be gentle with him. He could not be trusted.  
  
But then again, could anyone?


	18. Closer

_“It's hard to fight an enemy who has outposts in your head.” - Sally Kempton_

* * *

  
“I need a drink.” The bag thudded on the ground as Hotch did the usual rounds, checking every room and window and closet. My keys jingled in the bowl where I threw them as I kicked off my heels, pulling my hair out of its ponytail and flicking on the kitchen lights. The ceramic tiles were cold against my feet; a welcome sensation. From the cupboard I took two glasses, fishing an open bottle out of the fridge and pouring out its contents.  
  
It was such a normal thing, now, to have one of the boys fluttering around my apartment. I had lost all notions of privacy; but I willingly gave them up if it meant my survival. Hotch closed every door behind him as I settled onto the couch, flicking on the television and jumping channels. His footsteps drew closer and trailed around until they stopped beside me. He told me everything was clear.  
  
“Sit down, Bossman.” I held up the second glass for him to take, waiting patiently as he caved in and sat down. When I realized I’d been through all of the channels I let it stay on a news network, taking a big gulp of my drink before setting it down and collapsing backwards and running a hand through my hair. I rubbed my eyes until I saw shapes and patterns, letting them paint their fading frantic movements on the blank ceiling.  
  
One of the things I appreciated most about Hotch was that he knew to separate work from home. Unless an issue was pressed or brought up, he acted as if the office didn’t exist. But sometimes, despite the logic of this system, there were things that needed to be said. Or rather, things I couldn’t bear to let stew in my mind and keep me up at night. Deimos—or Luke.  
  
“You think you know someone…” I tucked my legs under me and reached for my glass, taking a sip.  
  
“There’s no way you could have known something like that.” Hotch reasoned, lifting his own glass to his mouth and casting a glance at me. I shook my head, laughing.  
  
“I went out with him for two years, did you know that? Seven hundred and thirty days. He proposed to me in Paris. The next morning he was gone: no note, no phone call. He changed his number, removed every trace of his existence that had been in my apartment. It was like he never lived.”  
  
“And you think it was the Miller using him against you?”  
  
“That’s just it, Hotch: I think it was the opposite. Or maybe it’s just what I want to believe… I think he tried to get away from Ares, but something must have happened that night…Well what do I know; it’s been seventeen years and I haven’t caught him yet.”  
  
“That isn’t your fault, Natasha.”  
  
With a sigh my eyes met his, and I gave a weak smile. Aaron Hotchner, this complex enigma that had a new layer to discover every time you bothered to look close enough. It was twice now that he’d managed to rescue me from some sort of peril; I wondered how many more times this would happen before my luck ran out. It was only as I came from my thoughts that I realized the change in the atmosphere. Who started it was beyond me, but the distance between the two of us was slowly closing. Although I was fully aware of it, nothing in me tried to stop it. I just let it happen, closer and closer and closer.  
  
A ringing pierced through the daze, sending us flying away from each other and overtaking the reporter’s voice on the television. I let out a nervous laugh, grabbing my empty glass from the table and marching off to the phone. The number wasn’t familiar so I just let it ring, figuring only a telemarketer would be calling at this time of night. Taking determined steps to the kitchen I tried to fathom what on earth had just happened. My hand stretched out for the open bottle as the machine played my voice message followed by a beep.  
  
“‘ _Grey-eyed one, I sing of you, wisest and most beautiful, relentless Athena, protector of cities, strong-armed and fair._ ’ Oh, Athena. Such lies they write.” The wine glass slipped from my hand, shattering at my feet. In a heartbeat Hotch’s phone was out. “But they will see soon; all of your blinded followers will see.”  
  
“Garcia, are you still at the office?”  
  
“They will see the blood on your hands and the frailty of your spear and the weakness in your heart.”  
  
“There’s a message being recorded on Natasha’s home phone, I need you to trace it now.”  
  
“I will peel the flesh of their eyes open and force the sight of your ineptitude to their very souls. Olympus is _mine_.”  
  
With a click, the line went dead. “Did you get anything?”  
  
My fingers gripped the countertop as if it was my last connection to life. Hotch finished his conversation with Penelope and told me she’d traced the number. Explaining that he was calling everyone in he told me to get my stuff. After a moment I carefully stepped over the glass, getting my shoes on and grabbing anything else I needed. As he called Rossi, I flicked off the television and lights, waiting for his signal.  
  
He was muttering a slew of words I was too distracted to catch as I holstered my gun. After a few moments he hung up, motioning me out the door and refusing to venture more than a few centimetres from my side, keeping a hand placed on my lower back. His eyes were crossing over every inch of the environment we moved through: my own personal bodyguard. At the car he opened and closed the door as if I was the president, and quickly locked the car when he got inside. My phone began to ring and I pulled it out of my pocket, realizing for the first time that my hands were slightly shaking.  
  
“Hi Spence.”  
  
“Morgan just called me, are you okay?” I could hear his car rumbling in the background, a low undertone to his voice of concern.  
  
“Yeah…Yeah, I’m fine—I’m with Hotch. Listen, don’t go in until I get there okay? Promise me, Spencer.”  
  
“I promise.”  
  
I told him I’d see him soon and hung up, buckling my seatbelt as Hotch sped out of the parking lot. He’d flicked the lights on so we didn’t have to obey things like stop signs or traffic lights or other cars. My eyes were glued on the passing scenery, but I wasn’t really seeing it. My heart was beating like a hammer, this blaring reminder that _Hey, you’re alive. You made it out. You’re still here._  
  
“I don’t want you going in there.” Hotch said without sparing me a glance. I began to protest but he cut me off completely. “You’ll stay in the car with Reid. That’s an order.”  
  
There was no use in arguing any more so I kept my mouth shut, half of me glad to be staying somewhere safe but the other half wanting to barge in myself and kill him. When we were almost there it occurred to me that this might not be what I thought it was, he might not be in there, he might be leaving some new drug addict in withdrawal there as a present. Or worse—it could be an ambush. He had to know that we would be coming; was this an attempt on my life or on everyone else’s?  
  
The address was to a stretch of dilapidated townhouses in a stretch of the ghetto. Most of the windows were boarded up, all traces of lawn pulled up or turned to mud, entire patches of roofing were missing—these places had been abandoned for a while. Even half the bulbs in the street lights had been smashed out by one thing or another. The lights and presence of the cars brought a dozen pairs of eyes out of hiding spots, everyone wanting to see what the fuss was about. These hidden people of the night. We were the last to get there, the team and some back up officers waiting outside with guns trained on the townhouse. Spencer came up to the car immediately and Hotch pulled his gun out and opened the door. At the last moment I held him back, trying to fit all of my fear and desperation into the shortest number of words.  
  
“Please be careful.”  
  
Spencer took his place after a brief exchange of words with Hotch, doing his best to give me a reassuring smile. He was such a bad liar. I bit at my lips, voicing my concerns about the likelihood of the situation, but Spencer dismissed them. It didn’t take a genius to see his hands gripping the wheel, the gear set in reverse and his foot ready to accelerate. He was supposed to get me out of here, if things came to it. I held my breath as the bodies disappeared, one by one, into the old house. Through the spaces between the boards on the window I could see the occasional passing of flashlights. My stomach was in knots because part of me expected another bomb to go off—any second now, the whole place would go up and it would be my fault. Or better yet, the house was a distraction and Ares would just kill Spencer and take me again. What if the incident at the park was just a way to determine who I would go after? Who would be the best bait to reel me in?  
  
From the car I could hear yelling—booming cop voices demanding for whoever was inside to get down, to surrender. My nails dug into the edge of the seat as we waited. Spencer kept glancing around to make sure we were alone outside. And then the door to the townhouse opened, a host of cops pouring out with irritated looks. I didn’t need to wait to know he wasn’t in there. Derek confirmed my suspicions when he came out and drove his fist into the front door, blowing a clear hole into it. The rest of the team exited as well, but they were followed by three more: two police men who were escorting a familiar boy. Luke. Deimos. Second in command.  
  
I sat wide-eyed at the sight as they pushed him into one of the police cruisers. He turned in his seat and looked at me through the back window. Well, he tried to at least. I knew the windows were tinted so he couldn’t actually see me—but he knew I was here. His eyes practically pierced mine. He wasn’t his usual cocky self though. No, he was something else…he was confused. Worried almost. I averted my eyes from his direction and saw the team staring in my direction.  
  
“It isn’t him.” I said quietly to myself. I had to be prepared for this. I had to know that this was all some sort of ploy. Of course he wouldn’t be caught by something as simple as a traced phone call, he wasn’t that stupid. He hadn’t been caught in almost two decades, he was _nowhere near_ that stupid. Whatever the point of this all was eluded me, but it couldn’t be good.  
  
“C’mon, Hotch is waving us over.” Spence said just as quiet. For a moment I just sat in the quiet, trying to come to terms with what I was beginning to understand in my heart. Where this path was leading me, what everything meant. Spencer waited for me to move before leaving, keeping close to me as we walked up the gravel driveway to the front porch.  
  
“How’s your hand?” I asked Morgan, nodding towards the scratched up limb. He shook his head, a glare fixed on the occupied police car.  
  
“Just fine, T-Bird.” He promised as I wrapped my arms around my body. After a few moments he shifted his focus from the police car to me. “You okay?”  
  
“Peachy-keen, jellybean.” I placed my hand on his shoulder before nodding towards the inside of the house. “Can we start processing?”  
  
Emily was the first to follow behind me, pressing a comforting hand to my back as we walked into the home of Ares. It was terribly dark and had a bad smell, like some mixture of rotting wood and urine and maybe some rotting animal. Whatever the combination, it was not a pleasant place to be. The structure of the townhouse was questionable to say the least, all the drywall stripped and showing the skeletal frame work like exposed ribs. This house was starving.  
  
Cobwebs graced every nook and cranny, and more than once a mouse raced along the baseboards. There were a few chairs and ancient couch cushions scattered around the place—whether they were used by occasional squatters or Ares and Deimos was beyond me. The floor boards creaked with every step we took, and I laughed at the fact that I was almost more scared of falling through to the basement than I was at the possibility of Ares waiting somewhere in this place. Everything had been cleared, though, so I tried to push that out of my thoughts.  
  
“The place was swept for explosives, right?” I asked Emily as we moved through the empty first floor and towards the stairs to the basement.  
  
“Everything’s clean.” She promised. “Well…metaphorically speaking.”  
  
She trailed a gloved finger across the bannister and it came up black with dirt and grime. She made a disgusted look that evoked a small smile out of me as we descended into the basement. It was the same as the upstairs in terms of dilapidation, but this was clearly the spot most occupied by the current dwellers. There were two make-shift cots laid out in the far corner, but much closer was an extremely out of place set up of tech stuff. There were two computers, three monitors, a mess of wires and a few other devices I didn’t even recognize.  
  
“Penelope’s going to have fun going through all of this.” I said as I surveyed the equipment. The phone call had most definitely been traced here, and given that Ares was nowhere to be found it all seemed a bit strange. “Do you think he wanted Deimos to be caught?”  
  
“Well he hasn’t blown us up yet,” Rossi began. “So that’s looking like the best guess.”  
  
“But _why_ …” I wondered, picking up a big journal and cracking it open. “Oh my God…”  
  
I had to stop for a moment to make sure I wasn’t imagining what I was seeing. The book was full of pictures of me. They spanned from when I was fifteen until what looked like me running through Crossdale park, where we’d caught Jeremy Gornit. Although it only served in making me feel sick, I couldn’t stop flipping through the pages. He’d been following me ever since I’d been deemed a target. There were pictures from my birthday parties and of Spencer and I walking home from school—his body had been scribbled out with red marker—and the day I graduated and my mother’s funeral and me in Chicago and Paris and Vegas and Virginia. My whole life, chronicled in a 12x15 journal.  
  
The back cover was the worst, though. On it had been pasted a photo that I’d taken of Spencer and I when I’d visited him one year. We were having dinner somewhere and I’d coerced him into taking just one picture with me. When I had gone to get the pictures developed the lady at the desk apologized, explaining that a few of the pictures hadn’t come out and the negatives had been misplaced. Spencer had rejoiced that his luck prevailed and our photo was missing. It wasn’t missing, it was stolen. Here it sat, off centre and slightly tilted. But he wasn’t scratched out this time, he was circled and an arrow drew down to one word: Leverage.  
  
I handed the book to Rossi, announcing that I needed to go get some air. In reality, I just needed to find Spencer. I needed to know that he was safe and sound and this hadn’t been some plan to get him. My heart was at ease when I found him on the first floor. He was talking with JJ but I pulled him away, explaining what I’d found and trying as calmly as possible to tell him he needed to check in with me all the time. I told him never to leave my side and not to answer any unknown phone numbers and always be aware of his surroundings. He nodded silently and I took his hand, holding it too tightly as I looked out at the occupied police cruiser. Deimos was looking right back at me, unblinkingly.  
  
For Spencer’s sake more than my own, I needed this to end.


	19. Acceptance

_"Nothing is easier than to denounce the evil doer; Nothing more difficult than understanding him." – Fyodor Dostoevsky_

* * *

  
It’s so easy to make a script of things in your head; so easy to plan out scenarios and who says what and everything that happens. The problem is, no one ever sticks to the script. It’s never a perfect world, and the unpredictability is perhaps best, though, because it keeps us on our feet.  
  
Or knocks us off them.  
  
He was abysmally calm, sitting there with perfect posture and hands folded neatly on the metal table. The handcuffs gleamed in the harsh halogen lights, reflecting brightness into the otherwise lifeless eyes. Hotch and Morgan were throwing everything they had at him: good cop/bad cop, promising a deal, threats, infiltrating his mind via profiling: nothing worked. He just sat there, not saying anything more than the same sentence over and over.  
  
“Athena will fall when the sun is most high; she will not return to her home in the sky.”  
  
Emily and Spencer were on either side of me, casting nervous glances that were so easily caught from the corners of my eyes. They wanted to tell me it would be alright, they wanted to promise that we’d find a way to make him talk; but I knew better than to believe in such fairy-tales. Happy endings were reserved for story books and Disney movies and preteen romance novels. They wouldn’t find their way into the cold, gray walls of this room.  
  
“We get it man, we hear what you’re saying.” Morgan said irritably. “Athena will fall, okay? But you were there when Ares had her before, weren’t you? Huh? This isn’t the first time you’ve seen her?”  
  
“Athena has presented herself many times.” He replied calmly, looking up at them for the first time. Morgan and Hotch exchanged looks.  
  
“And the incarnation you saw just now, have you seen her before?” Hotch pressed. Luke blinked once and then smiled.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.”  
  
Something in me snapped; it was as if in a single moment every memory of those four months rushed back. I felt every needle and every punch and every scalding hot cattle prod. Maybe it was just my lack of sleep. A fire lit within me, and before anyone could stop me I rushed out of the room and burst in on the interrogation. The door slammed into the opposing wall and my eyes found Luke’s with a fury.  
  
“You lying bastard!” I cried, Hotch moving to prevent my attack. “You were there every goddamn night, you watched me beg and stood there while he beat me! It was _you_ who I called to when he was _raping_ me, and you never even _tried_ to stop him!”  
  
“Natasha.” I ignored Hotch, struggling to see Luke through my watery eyes as my lungs processed choppy breaths. As suddenly as the rage had come, it subsided into a resolved calm. I looked him dead in the eye.  
  
“I can promise you this much: I will be the one to end your life.” There were a few moments of silence before Hotch escorted me out of the room. I didn’t protest, my body going limp like a rag doll as he steered me up to his office. He placed me in a chair before his desk and took the one beside it, turning so he was facing me.  
  
“We _will_ find a way to make him talk.” He had the perfect voice of reassurance. My head lolled upwards until my eyes found his and my hands slowly calmed their shaking.  
  
“I can see it now.”  
  
“See what?”  
  
“How it all ends. How it’s meant to end.” My voice was croaky as I tried to speak. “He’ll find me, eventually. He’ll get his way.”  
  
“Natasha…”  
  
“He needs to complete the fantasy. I am going to die. Maybe one more body is all you’ll need to find him, so please don’t let mine go to waste.” As I rose to my feet, so did he; blocking my path to the door and holding my arms in his hands.  
  
“I _promise_ you that we will find him, and when we’re done with him he won’t see the light of day again, do you understand me?”  
  
“Everyone keeps saying that, but I really don’t see it happening!” I cried, struggling to gain control of my emotions. “He’s always been one step ahead. He always will be.”  
  
“That’s not true. Listen to me,” He began as my eyes watered. “You beat him once already. You aren’t a victim, you’re a survivor. You have more strength in your determination to care for others than he will ever have holding a weapon. You _will_ make it through this.”  
  
Despite my best efforts at restraint, and understanding completely how inappropriate it was, my arms wound around him as I stifled my tears. He reciprocated the gesture as I mumbled out a few dummy words: “Aaron, I’m so scared…I can’t run anymore…”  
  
“It’ll be over soon.” He said quietly. There was a moment of silence, quickly stamped out of existence by a gentle knock on the door. We broke away instantly, my hands going up to dry my cheeks as Spencer came in. His eyes lingered on me in their all too familiar sad-puppy-dog way before he turned to Hotch.  
  
“We’ve, uh…We’ve got an address.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” I breathed.  
  
“After you left he started rambling in Greek; I—I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but then he just started repeating an address.”  
  
“Reid, stay here with Natasha.” Hotch was already lifting the receiver and dialing a number as instructions rolled out. “Tell Morgan to bring Prentiss, ask JJ to put out a bulletin to any cops in the area—Hello? Yes, this is SSA Aaron Hotchner, I’m requesting backup to an address that one of my agents will be passing on momentarily. This is a top priority case, I need every available unit you have. Yes. Thank you.—Get Garcia to pull up a satellite image of the place and relay the quickest route and best vantage points.”  
  
“I’m coming with you.” I demanded, Spencer hurrying away with his list of orders as Hotch gave me a weary look. “If this is real and there’s a chance this might be over, I have to be there to see it. I have to.”  
  
He was quiet for what felt like an eternity, the soundtrack of distant phones and footsteps and voices swelling loud in the absence of his speech. He caved, though, and nodded. I wasted no time and sped to the locker rooms, strapping on my vest and pulling on my jacket. Emily came in just as I got ready to go. Despite the fact that this was the kind of moment worthy of some exchange, we were both silent. I had little hope left when it came to catching Ares—Miller—whatever; and it probably made me foolish to think we might actually get him this time. But that was what I could count on: a fool’s hope.  
  
Spencer was waiting for me, staying by my side just as he’d promised. He wasn’t, however, ready to go. When I gave him a questioning look he explained that he wanted to stay behind and talk to Luke some more. My first instinct was to deny the request, but truthfully he was much safer in a building full of FBI agents than he was on what could very well be Ares’ home turf.  
  
“Did you clear it with Hotch?”  
  
“Not yet, I wanted to check with you first.” He explained. I gave him a small smile and nodded to show my agreement.  
  
“What do you think you’ll get out of him?”  
  
“Well, I have a theory about him but I’m not sure…” He trailed off, looking towards the interrogation room and then back to me. “There might be a way for me to get through to him.”  
  
“Tash, we gotta go.” Morgan called begrudgingly from the elevator. He didn’t want me going at all. I wished Spencer luck before rushing to make it before the doors shut. Derek looked over at me, but just like with Emily silence was preferred. There really wasn’t anything definitive to say.  
  
When we got to the parking lot I was herded into the car with Rossi and Prentiss, Derek going into the other car with Hotch. As we pulled out 3 police cruisers went past us. I heard Hotch’s voice on the walkie talkies as he told the policemen to cut all sirens two blocks from the location to keep the element of surprise. My spirits lifted a little at this fact: he didn’t know we were coming.  
  
That meant there could be no secret plot or anything like that. We could catch him. He could be tried and put in jail for the rest of his life. It could be over today. This wasn’t like that last time when he’d initiated our response, we were finally, _finally_ , one step ahead. Emily was reading out the directions that Penelope had sent to her phone, this set of lefts and rights and x miles ahead that brought us closer to the end—whichever end it might be.  
  
It was much farther out than I’d anticipated—the street name _Lundley_ sounded much more suburban than rural. For some reason I was expecting him to have been blending right in, just as he always had before. I was looking for the white picket fence, the manicured lawn, the single-car garage and the trimmed hedges. There was supposed to be a mailbox out front with the name MILLER on the side and a doghouse out back and curtains ugly enough to have been gifted by a mother-in-law. He had been invisible all of these years, so why would he stop now?  
  
But the longer we drove, the further we were removed from civilization. The white picket fences gave way to dilapidated buildings, to industrial sites and eventually corn fields. The garages dwindled into warehouses and barns. The mailboxes were replaced with neon signs and scarecrows. Emily kept on directing and so Rossi kept on driving, all the while my stomach working into tighter and more intricate knots.  
  
When we finally reached the street, it was in the middle of nowhere. The pale yellow of the dried out corn stalks was in stark contrast with the green of the distant treeline was in stark contrast with the clear blue sky. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing except the drooping power lines scattered evenly down the road, eventually disappearing into the vanishing point. Emily and I exchanged a look and waited for some signal on what to do.  
  
The only indication that we were in the right spot was a single post with the street number on it, sticking out of the ground on an angle. The wood was rotting around the reflective stickers that might as well have been mocking me. Yes, we were here. No, this was not what we were expecting. This wasn’t the end—just another damn chapter.  
  
Hotch got out of the car and so did some of the police officers. When Rossi stepped out I took it as my cue. I wandered close to the edge of the road, looking out over the cornfield and trying to understand where we went wrong. How had he managed to get the upper hand like this? There was no way he could have known we were coming.  
  
It was early—no later than 8 or 9—and the sun was blinding if you were facing the wrong way. But one of the cops called our attention to something I never would have noticed because I was so preoccupied with the empty lot in front of me. The field across the road wasn’t corn, rather something small and green. In the middle of the field, though, was a sight that made me cringe. A fire had been lit in a familiar shape—the sign of Ares. It burned strongly, its obtuse shape more out of place than a crop circle. The smoke billowed into the air in waves, curling in upon itself before dissipating entirely.  
  
“He planned for Luke to get caught.” I said aloud as the thought came to me.  
  
“But why?” Rossi asked.  
  
“I think he was counting on Luke to give us this address. I think he wanted to know how long it would take for us to get here. He wanted to get our response time.”  
  
“Sweep the area.” Hotch ordered. “We’ll talk to the neighbours, see if they saw anything. Prentiss, take Natasha back and call me if Reid gets anything out of Evans.”  
  
I didn’t even have the desire to stay here. There was no passion in me to look for clues or try and think my way to an acceptable solution. It was plain and simple: we’d been tricked. Again. Miller was probably watching us from some hidden location—maybe he’d even set up a camera on one of the telephone poles. I shook my head as I followed Emily to the car, disappointed in myself for actually believing this would get us somewhere.  
  
The thoughts from earlier were coming back to me. It was simple enough to see that we only got a step closer when Ares permitted it. It felt like he’d laid out a track and set us on it; this intricate and carefully constructed railway that had only one stop: my death. He was making preparations, jotting down his plans and now he had everything he needed. Eventually, one way or another, he would get me and it would not end well.  
  
He had a fantasy to complete. He had a compulsion to carry out, and I was the only missing piece. Somewhere in this city he had a house ready with a basement just like the house in the woods and a slab on which he would torture me and a knife with which he would end my life. My fingers traced the burn mark on my neck as I tried to stop myself from crying. It was a strange feeling, knowing I was going to die. Knowing full well that the night-time terror that haunted my sleep, the monster in the closet, the big bad Wolf—he wouldn’t be erased by a parent’s kiss or a night light. He would steal me and he would slowly end my life.  
  
“We’ll get him.” Emily said quietly, taking a hold of my hand as if she knew what I was thinking. I didn’t have the heart to give her any response. I just wanted to be back where I could see Spencer and know he was safe. I didn’t know how to tell him about what happened, what was going to happen. I tried to think if there was anything that I needed to do in terms of paperwork—but I updated my will every few years in anticipation of what I was now certain of: my imminent death.  
  
No matter how many times I told myself that hey, everyone dies—it just didn’t seem to help. Yes, everyone dies. Yes, sometimes people die tragically. People are shot or choked or burned or drowned or bludgeoned to death—I saw it on a daily basis—but it was different when you knew that it would be at the hands of the thing that scared you most. It wasn’t a slow cancer that gave me six months to say my goodbyes, it was a flash flood that would take everything from me in a heartbeat; one long, stretched out and trembling heartbeat that would last a lifetime.  
  
A heartbeat with a longer life than me.


	20. Calm Before the Storm

_“These violent delights have violent ends.” – William Shakespeare_

* * *

  
Everything felt weird when we got back. Like I was in the building for the first time all over again. Every little thing that I’d taken for granted all this time, they stuck out like fluorescent flyers on a gray lamp post. I should have gone to see Spencer right away, should have tried to get in as much time with him as possible, but there was something more important that I had to do first. I needed to condense the past two months of working at the BAU into some half-assed form of a letter. Sitting down at my desk, I pulled out a pen and ripped a sheet of paper from my notepad.  
  
 _Spencer, Derek, Emily, Hotch, David, Jennifer, and Penelope;  
  
If you’re reading this then I am most likely dead. I’m sorry. There aren’t enough words in all the languages in the world to tell you how sorry I am for letting this happen. I should have left before anyone got attached, and I am so so sorry. This was not your fault. None of you let this happen. It was always going to end this way. Always. I don’t think I can properly explain how much I love all of you, what you mean to me. You’ve given me more to live for in this short time than any amount of therapy or self-help books have my whole life. Spencer, you were my world and I’m so sorry that this happened. I love you. All of you, so much.  
  
Natasha_  
  
I folded it up into a square and kept it in my pocket for safe keeping until the time came. I trusted my body to know when the end was near. In the mean time I went into the surveying room and knocked on the glass for Spencer to come out. There was something different in the way that Luke was composing himself. His shoulders were slouched over, fear in his eyes and a nervous twitch in his foot. Was he in withdrawal? Spencer met me outside of the interrogation room, the two of us looking at this ghost of my past through the small glass window of the door.  
  
“How’d it go?” He asked, the confidence in his voice dwindling with each syllable as he properly took in the look on my face. I just shook my head, counting on him to know that there was nothing good to report.  
  
“What’s up with Evans?” My hands slipped into my pockets, feeling the folded edges of the paper and trying not to think of how little it did justice to everything I was feeling. “He looks different.”  
  
“I think he might have dissociative identity disorder.” He said wearily, cringing at the look I gave him. “While you were gone I tried addressing him by the different names—first as Deimos, then as Luke—and his mannerisms and behavioural ticks changed to match what was required of him. He adapts to fit the environment based on how he’s treated, and I think that somewhere beneath those personalities is…well, whoever he really is.”  
  
“So he doesn’t actually know everything he did to me and watched happen to me? How convenient.”  
  
“I know, I know how it sounds but…I think you might be able to get through to him. The real him, and that he might be able to tell us something we don’t know.”  
  
As much as the notion irritated me, as much as no part of me wanted to grant this person any kind of redemption or sympathy, what Spencer said made sense. More importantly, I know he wouldn’t bring an idea like that to me without being very sure that he was right. For a while I stared at the boy in the room, biting at my lips before begrudgingly accepting.  
  
“What do you need me to do?” I asked, arms crossed.  
  
“Are Hotch and Morgan here?”  
  
“No, why?”  
  
“Because I don’t think they’d let you go inside alone, but I think any presence other than yours will trigger too many conflicting traits and sides of him and he’ll just regress into the most basic instincts which will probably end badly for all of us, or he could completely shut down if he’s being pulled in too many directions.”  
  
“What do I say?”  
  
“You need to make sure you’re talking to Luke first instead of Deimos, Luke is the calmer of the two and there was never any violence between you two. Then you need to try and get the real him to come out. I think you might’ve spoken to him a few times back in university…Can you remember any significant discussions you had?”  
  
“The night he proposed.” I said quietly, hating that I had to go back to that place. Spencer cast a glance at the clock and I knew there wasn’t much time until the others came back. He wished me luck and promised he’d be right outside if anything happened. After a deep breath I walked into the interrogation room, the door closing quietly behind me as I offered a weak smile to the shaking boy. “Hi Luke.”  
  
“You…” For a moment I panicked, his eyes filled with some wildness that only could have been Deimos. But it passed, and he leaned back in the chair, a smirk on his face as he ran a hand through his hair. “Thought you were still mad at me, love.”  
  
“C’mon, you know I can’t stay mad at you…You’re my weakness, Luke Evans. Always have been.”  
  
“Mmm, and you are mine, sweetheart.” He leaned forward as I sat down, the handcuffs scraping against the metal table. He looked down at them and up at me. “Have they told you what I’m in here for? Can’t remember doin’ anything criminal-like. ‘Cept loving you, o’course.”  
  
“Can I ask you something?” I bit my lip, hating how easy it was to lapse back into the actions that had once defined our relationship. He nodded, eyes piercing mine. “Did you ever think about me? When we were apart?”  
  
“Every single day.” He said with sudden sincerity, the arrogance faltering for a moment. This was my point of entry. Use my heart like a weapon.  
  
“Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me? You took me up to the rooftop of the university where we weren’t supposed to be and showed me all the stars.”  
  
“You looked like an angel.” Again, the different tone. “My fairy-tale princess. Oh, how in love we were. You’ve no idea…not a clue in the world…”  
  
“What’s your name?” I asked quietly, sliding a hand across the surface and covering his hand. The gesture made him sob as he shook his head, pressing his forehead to the back of my hand. “Do you know who we’re looking for?”  
  
“You—You’ll make him mad. Don’t make him mad. Don’t stir the beasty-beast-beast…beast…” His eyes focused on the corner of the room as he stayed hunched over my hand.  
  
“Do you know where he is?”  
  
He looked up at me with those great big eyes, and for the first time he looked like a child. Innocent. But I remembered everything he’d witnessed, every lie he said and everything he’d done and he was once again an object of my hatred. And he knew it full well, the knowledge only seeming to wound him more. Like an injured animal with no mother to call for, no father to protect it.  
  
“Please don’t go to him. He’ll be so angry and I-I don’t want him to. Not again. Please.”  
  
“Tell me where he is.” Again, he just stared at me. I waited patiently as he slowly caved, one heartbeat at a time. He lay his head down on the table for a while but when he sat back up he was crying. My phone buzzed and I risked checking it, a text from Spencer.  
  
 _The others are back; I’m going down to stall them. Emily’s with you.  
Spencer_  
  
“294 Hulley Street, three blocks north of Lundley.” He said quietly. I nodded, getting to my feet and trying to pry my hand away, but he held me back. “Natasha…he knows.”  
  
“Knows? Knows what?”  
  
“If I’m here, he knows you’re coming.”  
  
Without another word I left, taking a breath when I got outside the room as if there’d been no oxygen inside. Emily came out, placing a hand on my shoulder and nodding to Hotch, Derek, and Rossi coming out of the elevator. We went over to the quickly and recapped, ignoring the look on their faces at the fact that I’d gone in there alone. Hotch ordered us all to be ready to leave in five as a panic worked its way into my chest for what felt like the thousandth time.  
  
“Whatever happens, don’t take off your vest.” He said sternly before rushing off to his office. Derek looked from me to him and then went following after. The look on his face wasn’t a good one and I worried that he would try and talk Hotch out of letting me go. When they made it to the office I waited for the door to close before I went after them, hovering outside.  
  
“Hotch you can’t seriously be considering letting her go with us.” Morgan’s voice echoed from behind the closed door and I froze mid-step.  
  
“I am considering it.”  
  
“Have you _lost_ it?”  
  
“I beg your pardon?”  
  
“Come on man, you know this case better than I do. You know her, you saw her house. Everything colour-coded and alphabetized because it’s the one part of her life she feels she can control. If something goes wrong—”  
  
“Morgan.”  
  
“This guy wasn’t caught by the cops for seventeen years, and it’s taken us this long to even get close to him! If something happens and he manages to get her, we might not be able to bring her back, Hotch!”  
  
“Do you honestly think I haven’t thought this through, Morgan?”  
  
“From this side of the desk it doesn’t look like it.”  
  
“What if it was you? Would you be okay with things if I asked you to stay behind on something like this?”  
  
“That would be different.”  
  
“No, it wouldn’t. I assumed we were working on a level of mutual trust here, Derek.”  
  
“Aw come on, don’t pull that. You know I respect you Hotch I’m just looking out for the girl.”  
  
“My decision is final. You can continue to look out for her for as long as this arrest takes.”  
  
I held my breath against the silence, my heart thumping furiously as I waited for some sort of response. The carpet would nicely muffle my footsteps in case I needed to make a fast retreat.  
  
“You really think he’s going to be taken alive?”  
  
Silence.  
  
“I sincerely hope so.”  
  


* * *

  
“Derek?”  
  
“Yeah, girl?”  
  
He was such a typical male driver. Going a bit too fast, one hand on the wheel, slouched a little: overall, far too comfortable for what we were driving to. The radio was off, the only noise coming from the humming of rubber wheels meeting concrete.  
  
“Do you…think I’m weak?”  
  
“What?” He began a game of trying to keep his attention equally divided between the road and me. “Who gave you that idea? Was it Reid? I swear, I’ll beat the snot outta that kid if he—”  
  
He stopped mid-sentence and just stared at me for a few seconds. I turned away when I realized he knew exactly what I was referring to. I doubted I was the only one to hear Morgan yelling, he had an awfully loud voice. He began some inner battle over what and what not to say.  
  
“You know I don’t. You’re a damn good agent, and you were just as good in Chicago. But I think deep down you’re scared for this. I’m scared for this and it’s not even got anything to do with me. I apologize if I sounded like I doubted you.”  
  
“No, you’re right.” I said quietly. “I’m terrified. I think I knew it would never be over until one of us was dead but…Look, Derek if something goes wrong…”  
  
“Hey, stop that. Don’t you start talking like that, you hear me?”  
  
“No, just listen. If something happens to me I need you to make Spence understand it wasn’t his fault, okay? And…just make sure everyone reads this.”  
  
I pulled the letter out of my pocket and stuffed it inside his, hushing him before he had a chance to stop me. Despite the fact that he asked what it was, I think deep down that he knew. He heaved out a sigh and nodded once, reaching across and taking my hand in his as we came closer to whatever end it would shape up to be. I tried to come to terms with the fact that this might’ve been the last time I saw him, saw any of them. It sparked a pain in my chest, a yearning to rewind back to when none of this was real. We could all be at Maloney’s again.  
  
Anything, _anywhere_ but here.


	21. Into Dust

_"When you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you." - Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

  
Thundering in my chest like an incessant drum, my heart worked overtime to keep my body from shutting down. It was such a disarming feeling—fear. It got the best of you in so many ways, in the ways you needed to be normal most at a time of need. I should have been calm, collected, objective, prepared; but instead I was panicking, taking shallow breaths and trying desperately to overcome the tremors shaking the standard issue firearm in my hand.  
  
He was a few steps away. Somewhere in this abandoned house that he’d no doubt fashioned into his altar, his lair, his place of worship. It didn’t feel real, not in the slightest. What seemed more likely was that I was just dreaming all of this; it was just some deplorable attempt on my conscious’ part trying to cope with everything that was happening in the waking world. The sun wasn’t this hot. My finger wasn’t almost pushing the trigger. My phone wasn’t really ringing.  
  
My phone.  
  
Tearing myself from the sorry state I was in, I dropped my gun-wielding hand to my side and checked the caller ID—it was Spencer. Irritation rose into me as I flipped it open, bringing the phone to my ear and not waiting to chew him out.  
  
“Spencer what the hell? I called you like forty times, we’ve got him. We’re at 294 Hulley street, get here as fast as you can.”  
  
“Tasha I—I can’t.”  
  
“What do you mean you can’t? Spence—”  
  
“He said to look in the window. I-I’m sorry.”  
  
I was confused for a moment, preparing to ask who on earth ‘he’ was, but I made the connection soon enough. My head snapped in the direction of the front window, the phone lowering away from my ear as I saw what was intended. The curtain parted a fraction and I saw the unmistakably lanky sliver of Spencer.  
  
“We’ve got movement!”  
  
“No!” I cried, moving to the edge of the police car marking our boundaries. An arm held me back as the line went dead. The front door opened as I screamed for them not to shoot. Spencer walked out slowly, hands held up in innocence, and right behind him was my nightmare with a knife against Spencer’s throat. The person haunting that dark and buried chapter of my life. I griped the hood of the car as my hands shook. He looked at me, and only me.  
  
“You have one chance and one chance only, Athena, to save the mortal. When this door closes you have forty-five seconds to surrender. If you bring another, the mortal dies. If you do not obey, the mortal dies. If any of your servants attempt to rescue you, they will know the…explosive power…of a _true god_. Leave your shield and spear behind. This is your end.”  
  
“Tasha don’t—”  
  
Miller slammed Spencer’s head against the doorway, but before anyone could get a good shot they were both gone and the door slammed shut.  
  
Forty-four seconds.  
  
Without hesitation I moved forward, pulling off my shield-like bullet proof vest, but Morgan and Hotchner formed a blockade in front of me. They held up their hands, as if I was the one who was dangerous. As if I was the one holding an innocent kid stuck in an adult’s body hostage. As if I was the one about to take everything from them.  
  
“Whoa, whoa, Natasha you can’t go in there.” My eyes were glued on the door and my breathing began to elevate.  
  
“I won’t let him die.”  
  
“We won’t let that happen but he _will_ kill you if you go in there. We need to think about this.”  
  
Thirty seconds.  
  
“Spencer is all I have.” I couldn’t control the shakiness in my voice. “I’m not taking any chances.”  
  
With a running start I pushed past them both, taking frantic steps closer to the gate. Twenty-three seconds. I stumbled as Hotch stopped in front of me, catching me completely off guard. I began to panic, looking from him to the door and back again.  
  
“Listen to me. If we just—”  
  
“Get out of the way!” I screamed, moving towards him.  
  
“If you go in there you forfeit your job, agent.”  
  
Fifteen seconds.  
  
I froze at the words, searching his face and finding a frightening amount of sincerity. How he could not understand, how he could care so little for one of his own was beyond me. I had one choice left if I wanted to make it on time to my own deathbed. Wiping my face of all emotion, I aimed my gun in between his eyes, cocking it and placing my finger on the trigger. Despite my best efforts tears still wiggled their way out of my eyes, crashing onto the broken cement below as I forced out one word.  
  
“Move.”  
  
He tried again to bargain with me, but before he could get more than a few words out I aimed off to the side and fired before returning the gun to its target. Begrudgingly, he took a step to the left and cleared my way. Without hesitation, and ten seconds on the clock, I ran the last few steps and flung open the door. There was some part of me, deep down, that wished there had been more time, perhaps for a more dignified walk. A few more seconds of life. More meaningful last words—a more meaningful last conversation with _him_. But Spencer’s whimpering from the next room pulled me from my selfishness.  
  
“Spencer?”  
  
“Right on time.”  
  
Turning a corner, I froze. Miller was holding a fistful of Spencer’s hair ; Spencer, kneeling on the ground holding a hand against the bloodied and bleeding spot on his head as Miller held a gun to him. There was a gentle _drip drip_ as the crimson droplets landed on the poorly maintained wooden floorboards. He looked up at me with a terrified expression, a pleading expression. I knew better than to think he was begging me to save him; no, he wanted the opposite. He expected me to walk out and save myself, leaving him here to die.  
  
“I’m here now, let him go.”  
  
“Shh, shh, shh, not just yet. He must bear witness.”  
  
“You said if I surrendered he would leave.”  
  
“First, dear Athena, if you would be so kind as to dispose of your spear and shield as I asked so we may speak freely.”  
  
I had completely forgotten about the firearm in my possession, the entirety of my attention having been thrown into searching Spencer for any other signs of harm. Hesitating, I eventually threw down the gun and kicked it away, sighing in relief as he let go of Spencer. He kept the gun pointed at him until I worked at the straps of the only thing separating my fragile human body from the torture he had planned. Hotch’s orders to keep the vest on under any circumstance echoed in my head as the vest slumped to the ground and Ares lowered the gun.  
  
“Son of Adam, are you a deaf man?”  
  
“N-no.”  
  
“Are you a blind man?”  
  
“Let him go!”  
  
“Silence, you harpie!” Miller hissed, causing Spencer to jump. Miller turned his attention back to the trembling boy, pushing the gun against his skull. “Answer me, mortal!”  
  
“No! I’m not blind!”  
  
“Then you shall hence forth bear witness. Athena, do you admit defeat and surrender your throne as goddess of War and Battle?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Now was that so difficult? Boy, you will spread this new truth to all ears which listen. And take care not to slander, for I shall sit in the golden thrones among Zeus, and I see and hear all. Go.”  
  
Spencer scrambled to his feet, not waiting for permission to start mumbling demands that I go with him or leave him there. I offered a weak smile, standing my ground as he begged me, each time with renewed desperation. The tears were flowing as I laid my hand on his cheek. A bullet flew by his head and smashed into a lamp as Miller screamed for him to get out.  
  
“I p-promise I’ll come back.” He said shaking as Miller came up and pushed him out of the door, barely avoiding the shots that came at him in his few moments of vulnerability. When the door slammed shut for the final time, enclosing us in an abysmal silence, he wasted no time in beginning the process. I tried to will my body to move, to _fight_ , but the fear kept me rooted to the ground. I said a silent prayer that got lost as something heavy collided with the back of my head. Falling forward onto my hands and knees, he grabbed hold of me and began to drag me over to an open doorway, all of my thrashing useless.  
  
There were endless stairs descending from the threshold. Even if it was lit I knew it wasn’t the kind of place I wanted to die, not in some dark cellar at the hands of the one I’d escaped before. He pulled me to my feet, forcing me to stumble down the stairs as he closed about 9 deadbolts behind him.  
  
A light came on and illuminated something dreadfully familiar: the slab. The all-too predictable recycled gurney that he insisted on using as a base for his rituals. It stood in the middle of a huge unfinished basement. The room, running the length and width of the house, had no separating walls and the sole swinging bulb feebly attempting to shed light into the dark corners. It was cold, frightfully cold, and it smelled damp. In the nearest corner stood a lumpy bundle of tape and wires and brick-like bags of some unknown substance.  
  
The explosive wrath of Ares in the form of 20 homemade bombs.  
  
“If you would be so kind.” He said gently from behind me. I had half the mind to defy him, to turn right now and attack and hit and kick him, but to what end? I had no weapon, there were none in sight, he had a gun and likely a knife; even if I somehow managed to get the advantage for a few moments, there was a flight of stairs and a set of unfamiliar locks that also held me hostage.  
  
I wasn’t aware of how badly I was shaking until I tried to get onto the gurney. The wheels slid back and forth as my weight shifted on it, and I wept as I lay on my back. Miller leaned over me, strapping me down onto the cold metal surface and pinning my arms to my sides. For about a minute after that he disappeared from my line of sight, the only evidence of his existence the rustling noises he was making off in the shadows.  
  
Without warning a bright light engulfed the far corner. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t light but fire, and he was standing over it with something. As I sobbed uncontrollably, he growled for me to be quiet before returning. I had no idea if the team was making a plan, but I didn’t want to die. Not here, not now, not when I’d left so much unsaid. But there were no footsteps upstairs, there was no sound of Morgan kicking the door down or officers saying they’d cleared the rooms or anyone calling my name.  
  
I was alone down here.  
  
“Oh, dear Athena. Not Zeus’ favourite anymore, are you?”  
  
He turned my head to the right, pushing away my hair and tracing the scar left by him ages ago. By the time I realized what he was holding it was too late—not that there was anything I could do anyways. Metal was pressed over the scar, numbing at first, but the pain of the heat soon burned through the shock and I let out a scream. It was so loud, there was so much pain, for a moment I’d believed there was some other girl yelling; but there was no audience, no innocent bystanders, just this ancient demon and his final victim. I tried to move my neck but he held me in place, pushing harder and laughing, inhaling the scent of burning skin with wild hunger.  
  
Finally letting up, I whimpered into the mercilessly cold metal surface, wanting to reach up and touch my neck but wholly restrained from the action. He came around to my other side, grabbing my face and forcing me to look at him. With sadistic pleasure he bathed in my pain, harvesting a tear from my cheek and licking it from his finger. The cattle brander dropped to the ground with a loud clang as the fire crackled on. He lowered his face close to mine and pulled my eyelids open when I refused to look at him.  
  
“Your time has ended. I’ve learned your tricks with your magic blood, but your vessel cannot sustain you if it is broken. The way to Olympus is sealed. Die, now, my dearest Athena. And know it was at the hands of Ares that your power was conquered. Die.”  
  
Raising his hand high above me, the blade in his hand glimmered in the light. It was beautiful, in a way. Like a last flicker of sunlight in which to bask; the memories of countless summer days and their nights rolling back to me, taking me out on the receding tide to a place where I could find some foreign comfort. The room began to melt away and I thought of familiar faces. Happier days. Simpler times.  
  
With one simple action, though, it crumbled away; the sandcastle I retreated into being demolished by the furious incoming tide. And again, and again, and again. I lost track of how many times he stabbed me, it was such a vicious form of the gesture; each blow he would twist the knife around inside me and then pull out, as if doing anything less than scrambling my innards was unacceptable. My head fell to the side, eyes rolling to the ground as I drifted from my body, pushed to the breaking point, completely disconnected from the frenzy my vocal chords were in, screaming, screaming, screaming.  
  
So much pain. It shot through me, blazing along my nerves like a forest fire. A bear trap in my organs. Pepper spray in my blood. I tried to fathom how anyone could feel such a magnitude for so long, and although I prayed for help and called out the names of my would-be saviours, they were nowhere to be found. They had 9 deadbolts and a bomb threat to worry about. But Spencer was safe. My Spencer, the only family I had left. The sound of Ares’ laughter was drowned out by one thing or another—either my screaming, the ringing in my ears, or the reality of my senses slipping away from me.  
  
Some part of me—that grew with each weak heart beat—began to wonder if maybe all of this was real. Maybe Miller was the alter ego, and Ares the true personality. Whether or not Athena was real and in me was irrelevant: Ares had the strength and luck and persistence of a God. He even looked the part. His perfectly constructed plan, executed flawlessly and leaving me a mangled bloody dying mess. How else could have done all of this for so long? How else could he harbour such obtuse hatred for girls he’d never known? Ares, God of war; rising to the throne once more. Athena will fall when the sun is most high; she will not return to her home in the sky. I will not return to my home in the sky. I will never have the chance to say goodbye. Athena is over, it is time now to die.  
  
I prayed for Death.  
  
And then, his face. This face that haunted my days and nights and the spaces in between. The demon hiding behind the walls and beneath my skin. This human mind fractured by the world it was raised in, beaten and bruised until up was down. The God? The supernatural being? The man. The masterpiece. The Winner. The Olympian. A smile was still upon his face, in his own little world where in was out. He was looking right at me, but not really looking; a small hole between those dead eyes and a steady stream of blood coming from it.  
  
There was fire, now, fire everywhere inching closer and closer to the two of us. Five of us? It forced sweat onto my brow and smoke into my lungs as I struggled to take choppy breaths. A warm something was pooling around my hands, a sticky liquid that I smeared between my shaking fingers. And then, salvation. The heavy restraints were gone and I felt coldness. I was flying or sinking or dying some more, but one way or another it was ending. I was ending, melting into this cool wisp of some kind of nothingness. A pleasant surprise, a kind reunion, a dear old friend, a brand new face.  
  
In all his glory: Death.


	22. Fragile

_"When we were children, we used to think that when we grew up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability, to be alive is to be vulnerable." – Madeleine L’Engle_

* * *

  
If you at all remember being a child, then you might recall having a slightly debilitating fear of the dark: of monsters in your closet or under your bed that only ever came out when lights were zapped. No amount of kisses or lullabies or promises from a mother or father could calm the panic. Snuggles the rabbit and that big blanket were no match against the foul things in the night. All that could save you was a nightlight.  
  
It’s a fear of the unknown, not darkness. A horrible, crippling, terrifying fear of what _could_ be. The same reason that nothing is ever as good in real life as you imagined: because nothing can be as beautiful—or as horrifying—as you conjure it up in your head. Some people learn to adapt as they grow older. Moving, switching schools, losing friends, making new ones, aging: it’s all change. But not everyone is so good with it.  
  
I was one of those people.  
  
For the longest time I had a deep-seeded hatred for change unless completely necessary. Unfamiliar places were scary to me, and I could never get comfortable. Always the last to doze off at sleepovers, waking up before the call at hotels. There was no more foreign place, though, than hospitals.  
  
A few minutes into my return to consciousness made me very aware of a few things: the sickening scent of sterilization, the uncomfortable standard hospital gown, the obscene brightness that burned red through my eyelids, and the beeping of at least ten different machines. There was an odd tingling sensation that mingled throughout my body, twinkling at random points as my memories came back to me.  
  
I was supposed to be dead.  
  
My eyes fluttered open at the recollection of Miller’s dead face, but they slammed shut immediately from the light. I began to sit up, easing my lids open and cringing at the elevated beeping of the heart monitor. A pain shot out from my stomach before I could sit up straight and I collapsed back down, clawing at the oxygen mask on my face. My eyes adjusted in time to see a face at the door.  
  
“Natasha!” Spencer ran inside, stumbling over a cord as he came up to me. Hotch followed in after him and I tried not to think about all that would need saying. Spence hesitated before putting his arms gingerly around me, scared to press too hard. I could hear him sniffling back tears and despite the pain I held him close. He gave me a look as I finally pried the mask off my face and began to scratch at the IV drips in my arms.  
  
“Spence, are you okay? How’s your head?” The voice that came from my throat was croaky and dry. He looked at me, bewildered, as I traced my fingers along the bandage on his temple. Hotch stepped outside and spoke to a nurse, pointing to his left before she nodded and went in that direction. “Did you need stitches?”  
  
“I’m not the one in the hospital bed.” He said wearily, pulling a chair up beside me and preventing me from pulling at all the cords and tubes as little droplets streamed from his eyes.  
  
“Oh don’t worry about me, I’m just fine.” Pushing myself up, I cringed and was forced backwards once more as I clutched the injured area. Through the fabric of the gown I felt tens of little bumps were scattered in a line. Sutures. I felt incredibly drowsy, despite the complete consciousness of my mind. Ares—Miller’s face was there each time I closed my eyes, and although I knew it was Spencer’s hand that reached out to hold mine, it felt like Miller’s skin and it was like I could hear his low voice whispering just outside the door.  
  
“No, Tash…you’re not.” He said quietly. “You were in surgery for eight hours…I didn’t—They couldn’t tell me if you were going to make it or not.”  
  
“I’m here, and in a bit I’ll be on my feet and back home so don’t you go worrying about me okay?”  
  
“But—”  
  
“Spencer, I love you, but I’m fine and instead of telling me I’m not, I’d really like some water or coffee or something.”  
  
He opened his mouth to argue again but with a single look I silenced him. The unspoken thoughts came out in a heavy sigh as he got to his feet and slid out the door. Hotch looked at me for a moment before turning towards the door.  
  
“I’m putting you on paid leave until the doctor clears you.” He said stiffly as he reached for the door.  
  
“You’re—you’re not firing me?” At this he turned to me, confused. “You said if I went in there…I’d lose my badge…”  
  
“Natasha…” He began, all authority gone from his voice. “I was trying to stop you from going in so that this wouldn’t have happened.”  
  
We stayed silent as the machines went on with their beeping and buzzing and bright lights. It was only now, as I avoided his eyes and looked around the room, that I noticed all the flowers and cards that had been left on side tables and chairs. My hand reached up and touched the bandage on my neck, covering the freshly burned scar that still had the heat of hell locked in it.  
  
“I’ll give you some quiet.”  
  
“No,” I cried out, halting him where he stood. “Please don’t leave me alone here.”  
  
Hesitating for a moment, he caved and pulled up a chair to my bedside. His hand slid into mine as my face became laden with tears. There was so much fear, so much panic that I didn’t want Spencer to see; he worried enough without seeing how bad I truly was. All I wanted to do was curl up and have time to cry and just be held by someone. No, not just someone…  
  
“You know,” I began, sniffing and wiping at my eyes. “There was a point down there…Right before I passed out. I started to believe him. I was convinced he was Ares, and I think he knew it.”  
  
“He’s gone, Tash.” Hotch brought up his other hand and covered mine, his thumb gently moving across the back of my hand. “It’s over.”  
  
“I don’t think it’ll ever really be over…This doesn’t feel like winning. Not at all.”  
  
“That’ll be the morphine, sweetie,” Penelope said from the door with watery eyes as Hotch’s hand slipped from mine. She marched up to my bedside and added another bouquet to the collection, leaning forward and hugging me; Derek, Emily, JJ and Rossi all piled in after her, and soon after Spencer returned. Derek threw the piece of crumpled paper that could have only been my letter in the garbage before forcing me to endure his bear arms enveloping my broken body.  
  
“Don’t you ever pull that bullshit again.” He said quietly as Spencer cleared his throat from the back of the room. He wiggled to the front and handed me a bottle of water. Derek intercepted it and twisted the cap before letting me have it.  
  
“My hero.” I said sarcastically before taking a gulp. “Don’t you guys have work to be doing? I won’t get better any faster from you standing here.”  
  
“Actually, there’s research to support the thesis that presentation of familiar stimuli in the form of contact with friends and relatives actually promotes higher neuron firing rates, which in turn speeds up the rate at which damaged cells repair themselves.”  
  
“Cite your source.” I challenged, smiling as he rocked on his feet for a moment.  
  
“Professor Darcy Jodwin, University of Cambridge, in her 1986 paper _The Positive Correlation Between Stimuli and Recovery_ , published in Scientific American Mind.”  
  
“Nice try, Spence, but I think everyone knows Jodwin studied experimental psychology, not neuroscience.”  
  
Hotch had melted to the back of the room, Emily taking up his seat. JJ had gone to my place and picked up a change of clothes for when I was released, placing the bundle at the edge of my bed, and Rossi brought me a book I’d once talked about on one of the many plane rides so I had something to do in the lonely hours to come. They did a wonderful job at making me feel like I hadn’t just been through what I had, cracking jokes and starting conversation and overtaking the hospital soundtrack.  
  
One by one they were whisked away, called to other engagements that they had no way of escaping. Each left with a hug or some equivalent of a parting gesture, with promises to visit soon. Rossi was out in the hall talking to Hotch, leaving me alone with Derek and Spencer.  
  
“Spence, I’m really sorry to keep banishing you, but could you give me a sec with Derek?” I asked, sitting up in my bed a little. With a yawn he obeyed, shuffling out of the room and closing the door behind him.  
  
“What’s up?” Derek took a seat on the edge of my bed.  
  
“Derek, you wouldn’t lie to me, right?” I fidgeted with the edge of the bed sheet and he raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
“Okay…Well I want to know everything that happened after Spencer came outside. I…I was out of my mind down there so everything’s distorted in my memory. I just want to know what happened.” After a moment he nodded, taking time to think back to the beginning and filled in the missing pieces.  
  
 _Spencer came out of the house, hands up in surrender and blood streaming down his face. When the order not to fire came he broken into a run, holding one hand against his head. He reached Morgan, Hotchner, Rossi, JJ and Prentiss; he was thinking too quickly and skipping too many words: no one could understand him.  
  
“Slow down, kid.” Morgan said, grabbing hold of his shoulder as the medics rushed over to him.  
  
“Reid, where is he taking her?” Hotch demanded as the boy shook in his shoes.  
  
“I-I don’t know! I don’t know! Hotch we have to go in there, he’s going to kill her!”  
  
“Set up a perimeter,” Hotch bellowed to the surrounding policemen. “Have eyes on every door and window, check for a cellar. Go! I need SWAT and Bomb Squad inside with us now! Reid, stay here. The rest of you, with me.”  
  
The group followed behind SWAT, halting for only a moment before entering the unlocked door. They immediately spread out, working their way carefully around each corner and shouting ‘clear!’ The agents called out for Natasha, but just as an officer took his first step upstairs, a series of blood curdling cries wormed their way through every creaky floorboard.  
  
“Over here!” Prentiss called everyone over to a locked door. Hotch ordered for it to be broken down.  
  
“But we haven’t cleared upstairs yet!” One of the men cried.  
  
“Open it!” He yelled in response, the shuffling feet of the men carrying the battering ram were calm in juxtaposition to the screams. The voice called out for Hotchner, for mercy, for Father, for God. The SWAT member pulled his arms back and released, crashing against the door: but it did not budge. Again, the screams and pleading.  
  
“Again!”  
  
The battering ram hit its target three, four, five times; the cries reached a crescendo with the sixth, but ceased altogether before the seventh finally defeated its enemy. Hotch took the lead, descending the stairs with his gun at the ready. The flames were felt before they were seen: the basement, under normal circumstances the coolest place in a home, was blazing hot. But this all came secondary to the fact that Miller stood before them, bloodied and beaming.  
  
“Anton Miller! Put the knife down and step away from the girl!” Morgan bellowed, all of the agents lined up behind their leader.  
  
“We’ve got bombs.” Prentiss said, eyes glued to the girl on the table.  
  
“There’s accelerant trailing right to it from the fire.” Rossi added.  
  
“Miller!” Morgan cried again, but the man did not surrender. With a laugh he reached forward and stroked the dying girl’s hair.  
  
Everything has its breaking point. This was Aaron Hotchner’s. He took a single step forward, aimed his gun, and fired a bullet into the back of Miller’s head. The man collapsed, but the smile remained. Hotchner stepped over to the man and fired three more shots into the already lifeless body. JJ screamed for a medic. Prentiss crossed over to the girl. Morgan began to usher everyone out of the soon-to-be-detonated house.  
  
Hotchner hovered over the body for a moment longer before instructing Emily to keep Reid away and tell the paramedics to leave the gurney they had: he could see that she was bleeding too much to be moved to another one. Morgan stationed himself at one end of the would-be death bed, ready to lift it out. Hotchner pulled off his jacket, crumpling it into a wad and pressing it against the gaping wound in the girl’s stomach. In response to this pressure the wound expelled more blood; an endless fountain of crimson red that drenched his hands and pooled around the girl’s body.  
  
“Natasha, stay with me.” He called, keeping his eyes on her fluttering lids as her head lolled. He felt around under the gurney for the latch that would collapse it, nodding to Morgan when he found it. The device lowered down and Rossi took the other end. Hotch walked alongside them, keeping pressure, as they made their way up the stairs as quickly as possible.  
  
“Don’t you quit on me, girl!” Morgan called out as they descended the front steps. All the vehicles, save the ambulance, had moved off to a safe distance. The team was waiting outside the emergency vehicle as the girl was carried out; the medics rushing to take over and immediately taking note of the injuries. JJ had taken Reid away from the scene, and as the paramedics pulled the girl into the van, they announced the hospital they’d be taking her to. Prentiss climbed in after the girl and Hotch took the other seat; Rossi and Morgan going to meet up with the rest of them at the hospital._  
  
“They took you straight into surgery. The bombs went off when the ambulance turned the corner, so everyone was fine. Until I found what you wrote—do you have any idea what it was like to read that out loud?”  
  
“Derek…” I began, taking his hands in mine.  
  
“You don’t ever give me something like that, okay? And you don’t ever again do what you did today.”  
  
“I’d do it a thousand times over if it meant saving any of you.” I said honestly. His eyes glossed over as he rolled them, shaking his head at me before pressing his lips to my forehead.  
  
“After you got out they said you needed rest and Hotch tried to send us home. We all just made camp in the waiting room till the nurse came, baby girl.”  
  
“And…” I took a minute to process everything. “His body…it’s?”  
  
“Burned into dust.”  
  
“Thank you Derek. For everything.”  
  
“Anytime, T-Bird.” He smiled, pulling me into a hug and getting up to leave. He paused at the door, hand on the doorknob, and turned. “But you know, there’s one thing I’m sure of.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Hotch took all the classes in negotiation. He could talk guys into surrendering in his sleep. He always leaves shooting till the last possible minute. But this…he didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even speak to the guy. Shot him after he was dead. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like any of us are gonna say anything about breaking protocol.”  
  
“What are you saying?”  
  
“I don’t know if you know this, but Hotch’s ex-wife was murdered by an unsub. The way he looked at Miller, the way he acted…I just don’t think he could stand going through that again. Not with someone he cared about.”  
  
A blush took over my cheeks that I couldn’t cover. With one last smile, Derek opened the door and left me in the pseudo-silence. I watched as he joined Hotch and Rossi, the three of them looking over at me but my eyes only meeting one pair. Spencer opened the door and freed me from the sight, peeling off his shoulder bag and curling up in the chair. He was giving me a look that made my heart ache.  
  
“I’m here, aren’t I? You would’ve done the same stupid thing for me so don’t give me that look, Spencer Reid.”  
  
“I thought I was going to lose you.” He said quietly.  
  
“I told you I wasn’t going to leave you, Spence. I mean it, okay?” His eyes were glued to the floor and I sighed. “You’re a man of science. What are your facts? I am alive. Miller is dead. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Please don’t look at me like that.”  
  
Wiping at his eyes, he pulled a book free and flipped to his bookmark.  
  
“Get some sleep, Tash.”


	23. Baby Steps

_"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it is never gone." – Rose Kennedy_

* * *

  
It was almost as bad as before Ares was gone.  
  
For the first few weeks Spencer was over every second he had to spare, to the point where he temporarily moved in. It was hard because sometimes he would just look over at me and his eyes would water and it would break my heart and I would tell him to stop even though I understood why he did it. He cooked what he could and brought me all the takeout food I used to love and put on my favourite movies and cleaned my fish tank to my standards and kept everything in their respective colour coded, numerical, or alphabetical order.  
  
But the order of things was completely thrown off the second I’d decided to step into that house. What order, what justice, what logic was there left in the world where a man who’d tormented me for months as a child was able to pick up again when he pleased and puppeteer me into his trap for the second time? How was it in any way fair that he was chosen as the game master, the leader, the one who gave the orders? What point was there to adhering to the normal laws of the universe when your life could be obliterated into useless atomic fragments because some asshole had a fucked up childhood?  
  
I refused to speak about what had happened in the house when everyone was gone and I was alone with Miller. The only thing I ever discussed was how Spence had been taken in the first place—he barely made it out of the building before he was knocked out. If I could control anything, it was who had to share the second worst time of my life. Spencer never, ever would. Not under any circumstance, ever. I would play the complacent wounded animal, the broken girl who needed tending to. I would cherish his company and be grateful for his help and accept all of his gestures of kindness.  
  
But I would never let him know.  
  
At nights, I couldn’t even cry for fear that he would hear me. Could not tell him again how terrified I was. Had to close the door and sleep on my stomach in hopes that my pillow might muffle whichever version of my nightmare decided to present itself each night only to have too much pain and flip over again. He’d dealt with this all when we were kids, he didn’t need to go through it again. He’d been there for the month and a half after my return home that I stopped speaking, dealt with my flings with depression and suicidal tendencies. I needed to get over it and make sure he could lead a half-way normal life. He didn’t need to watch me suffer all over again.  
  
The biggest difference this time was the physical pain. I was all bandaged up, both my abdomen and my neck. It hurt, everything hurt so much. The drugs took the edge off but it was always there, this underlying sharpness that peaked whenever I moved the wrong way. Eventually I convinced Spencer to leave, to limit his visits, to let me suffer alone. It was easy to make him believe I was getting better. It was simple to put on a happy voice and tell everyone who called that yes, I was feeling good, thanks. Of course, I’ll call if I need anything. Well duh, I missed them too. Why was it so easy to lie?  
  
The brunt of the damage had been taken on by my liver, parts of it so obliterated they had to be removed. However the liver, as the doctor explained, was capable of regenerating cells and essentially mending itself in the long run. They’d also had to sew my stomach up and minimize the damage all of the spilled acids had caused inside me. All of this, the miracle that I was still alive, the pills to quell the pain, they didn’t always help. It hurt like fucking hell.  
  
Most days I wished I was at work so that I could have something to focus on other than my own self-wallowing, but there was no way around the fact that I would be incapable of doing most of the physical labour required simply because it hurt too much. So while I was stuck at home in a dangerous spiral with my mind, I did my best to get my body back together again. Whatever workouts I could manage, I would do. It was something I could commit to, something I could control. Unlike my mind, where the horrors ran free and the nightmares were plentiful, I could determine the number of reps or when I should stop or how much pain would be my limit for the day. Not everything had to be a runaway train.  
  
The problem was with each minute of each day my apartment felt smaller and smaller. I was going stir crazy, not being able to leave and not being of any use to anyone. I would just sit out on the balcony and pray to God I’d tire myself out until I fell unconscious with no chance of dreaming. It made me angry, that after everything that had happened Ares still had a hold on me. Before, I’d thought that if I was dead things would be okay because he couldn’t torment me. Naturally, I thought if he was dead the same logic could apply; but that was so far off from the truth.  
  
He was every shadow and footstep and bump in the night. Every creaky floorboard and noisy appliance and blaring car horn. He hid in the spaces between the phone rings and the breath between words and hid in every place I ever considered safe. He was the electricity buzzing through every light bulb, he was the dust that settled on every surface, he was the ripple in the bed sheets that didn’t go away no matter how many times you pulled or pushed at it.  
  
Even in death, he made me a fugitive in my own home. And no matter how hard I tried those first few weeks to get over it, the fact of the matter was this man had been the cause of the worst moments of my entire life. All of my bad days were a direct effect of his existence in my life, his obsession with his fantasy. In reality I should have been better equipped to handle it the second time around, given that this time he was actually dead not hidden and I had a whole team of people willing to help me mend. But the fact of the matter was the mind is a delicate thing and I’d spent almost two decades building up this scar tissue only to have it scraped away in the course of a single day.  
  
Most times I just let the phone go to voicemail because it was so much easier to just hear everyone’s voices, to accept their love and well-wishes without having to tell them that they could come over the next day, the day after that, maybe next week—just not today. On one of my worse days the phone rang only once, but the voice leaving a message was that of a child. Jack.  
  
“N’Tasha?” His voice echoed through the apartment. “Are you there?”  
  
I wiped my eyes and tried to clear my throat before picking up the phone. “Hey, Superman.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” I pressed my hand to my forehead, clenching my eyes shut. “N’Tasha?”  
  
“I’m just not having a very good day, buddy.” I cursed my voice for cracking. “But I’ll be fine.”  
  
“When I’m sad Daddy sings me a song, do you want him to sing to you?”  
  
I leaned back on the couch and laughed, the action sparking a pain in my abdomen. “Somehow I don’t think your daddy will be up to singing to me, sweetheart.”  
  
“Well…If you’re feeling better do you want to come to my soccer game next month?” He asked, and I could practically hear the pout in his voice.  
  
“I sure will, buddy!” Lying to a six year old—an all-time low. I heard him move away from the phone and say something to Hotch, and after a brief exchange he said a quick goodbye and it was Hotch on the phone. My insides squirmed and I itched to hang up as soon as possible.  
  
“How are you feeling?” I gave a quick response, trying not to sound rude but making it clear I wasn’t up for talking. “Jack made you a card today and I was wondering if it’d be alright if he came by and dropped it off?”  
  
“Oh.” It didn’t take a genius to see he was using Jack to get around my habit of blatantly ignoring everyone except for Spencer. “You can just give it to Spence.”  
  
“Are you—”  
  
“Listen, I’m not feeling the greatest so I’ll talk to you later, tell Jack I said thanks.”  
  
From then on I started letting absolutely every call go to voicemail—especially considering Derek once called from Spencer’s phone trying to get through to me. I felt bad, but I just wasn’t ready to re-integrate into that part of my life. I didn’t bother denying that I’d relapsed into the hermit-like ways I’d adopted the first go around; but this was my coping mechanism. I wasn’t self-harming, I wasn’t lashing out, I was just taking my time. A very long time. You don’t really think about how many messages your machine can hold until you spend thirty plus days screening your calls.  
  
One day, though, the nightmare had hit me particularly hard. I’d fallen asleep on the couch in some uncomfortable way, a pain shooting through my abdomen which my brain decided to work into the nightmare. Miller was stabbing me, just as he had a thousand times already, each movement feeling all-too real in this dream world of mine. Apart from my sobbing the two of us were silent. He didn’t taunt me with words, he was doing enough to my physically. Something happened though that was out of place, from the top of the stairs, three knocks came against the nine-time dead-bolted door. Ares looked at me in confusion as the knocks came again and he disappeared, the world fading to black.  
  
When my eyes finally opened I realized the knocking was real, but so were my tears. I got to my feet, clutching at my bandaged body as the blanket fell to the floor. My face was soaking wet and I tried to get it through my head that I’d just been dreaming again, but even as I crossed the short distance between the living room and the door I checked over my shoulder a hundred times. As I got to the door and fiddled with the locks with my free hand I tried to figure out how I was supposed to get Spencer to leave.  
  
“Spence, I told you to stay home.” I cringed at the weakness of my own voice as I pulled the door open, wiping at my face. A heavy sigh escaped me and I immediately regretted leaving the couch.  
  
“Are you okay?” Hotch asked with the type of worry I’d forbidden Spencer to exhibit. Out of anyone, Hotch was the last person I wanted seeing me like this. There was absolutely no way he’d let me back to work anytime soon now that the first time he’d actually seen me in almost a month I still looked as horrible as I did the day I woke up in the hospital.  
  
“I’m fine.” I tried to straighten up in the doorway but it wasn’t working out at all and he gave me a look. “How’s the team?”  
  
“May I come in?” I hesitated, knowing that I would get some speech and questions and everything I’d already heard from Spencer already. But the truth was I missed him terribly and keeping him away was hurting me as much as a regenerating liver. I stepped to the side and pulled the door open, apologizing for the state of the place as he set a big bag down on the counter.  
  
“What’s that?” I asked, staying put for fear of going too close. I hadn’t forgotten about the night we’d picked up Deimos, the night we almost kissed. And although it might’ve just been me being arrogant, I didn’t think he’d forgotten either. But how the hell do you bring something like that up? The solution was you didn’t. You left it for a better time, like when you weren’t in recovery. Talking about the taboo feelings you have for your boss isn’t exactly the best way to get them to clear you to return to work.  
  
“Garcia.” He said simply, casting a glance back at the bag where a huge bouquet of multi-coloured flowers was peeking out. I thought I could make out the label of some Ben and Jerry’s through the plastic and it almost made me smile. I looked up at him but quickly avoided his eyes and went to the living room, pulling the blanket up off the floor and trying to make the place look a little less messy. “You don’t have to do that.”  
  
“Do you know when I can come back?” I didn’t face him, wiping away all of the wetness on my cheeks and sitting down on the couch. It was quiet for a moment before his shoes started clunking their way closer until they were in my field of vision. He sat down on the coffee table and waited for me to look up at him, hands folded before him.  
  
“Have you taken the time to talk to anyone yet?” He asked quietly.  
  
“I talk to Spence.” I said simply, dropping my eyes to his tie.  
  
“He told me you didn’t.”  
  
“So if I talk to someone then I can come back, right? Because If I’m stuck here much longer I’m going to lose my mind.”  
  
“You need to get better both mentally and physically. When’s the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”  
  
“I sleep.” I shrugged, picking at my nails before remembering I was dealing with a profiler and every move I made was being analyzed. He was quiet for a while and eventually my eyes rose up to meet his. He let out a sigh and I was about to ask what was wrong but he started speaking.  
  
“You have to talk or else that feeling will keep you awake forever.” He said simply. I looked at him with confusion before he started telling me a story. His story. All about George Foyet, the man who’d gone after him, his ex-wife and Jack. He told me how Foyet attacked him in his house, how he stabbed him 9 times, how he tormented him all the way to the bitter end. Spencer had told me all of these things, but it was so much different hearing it from him. But I understood what he was doing; he was showing me his scars, and he wanted me to show mine.  
  
When he was finished I turned away from him, bringing my knees up against my chest and knowing that, if anyone was to understand and not be as bothered by what had happened to me, it would be Aaron Hotchner. He had lived a version of it himself, he would know not to tell me the same stupid things rephrased in a million different self-help books. He wouldn’t waste time asking questions or telling me what a brave survivor I was. He understood better than anyone, better than even Spencer, because he was me a few years ago.  
  
“I didn’t think I was coming out of there alive.” I said quietly as he moved onto the couch in front of me. I took a deep breath and walked him through every agonizing second of that day. Sometimes it felt like another lifetime, sometimes it felt like it had just ended. I explained every action and word and laugh and cry. Every hit, every stab, every seared bit of skin. Although I hated it, although it made me feel even weaker than I already was, I couldn’t control my crying. When the story was finished, I sighed in relief. It felt like a load was lifted off my shoulders, the loneliness of that cold basement not so dark when it was shared between to people.  
  
“Try to sleep.” He said after a moment, but the notion brought fear to the surface all over again.  
  
“N-no. I can’t, whenever I try—”  
  
“Natasha.” He caught me completely off guard as his hands went to either side of my face, stopping my nervous rambling. “I will stay here until you wake up, but I can’t let you come back to work unless you actually do recover.”  
  
He released me, turning to get the blanket from behind him. I leaned forward, stopping him in his tracks as my arms wound around his neck. I buried my face in his shoulder, trying not to cry for the billionth time as he held me. There was no place in the world I wanted to be than in his arms, the safety unchallenged and the comfort unparalleled. When at last I pulled away I got comfortable on the couch while he slipped off his shoes and jacket, retreating to the other couch and telling me to sleep.  
  


* * *

  
In an attempt to prevent any unnecessary surprise parties courtesy of Penelope, I limited the knowledge of the date of my return to Hotch and Spencer—who probably would have been furious with me if I hadn’t told him. It was a breath of fresh air returning to work; it felt more like a vacation. Well, it was a vacation from the solitude of my apartment. The bandages were off (although the scars were a very prominent reminder) and I had been sleeping well. I was healing.  
  
When I got onto our floor Spencer gave me a smile as we walked through the doors. I couldn’t contain my happiness at the sight of Derek and Emily and Penelope and JJ sitting around our desks, laughing and joking. Emily was the first to see me, her eyes growing wide as she quickly crossed over to me.  
  
“I didn’t know you were coming back today!” She hugged me gently as I explained I didn’t want a big deal to be made of it. “Oh, Tash.”  
  
“Come here, you.” Penelope said, nudging Emily out of the way and squeezing me tight. “Did you get my care packages? Because I know that no matter what a little colour and a lot of ice cream can make anything feel less crappy. Spencer told me your favourite flavour so if he got it wrong don’t look at me.”  
  
“Thank you, Penelope.” I smiled as JJ took her place, welcoming me back. Derek was waiting on my desk, arms crossed over his chest as I raised my eyebrows at him. He shook his head, opening his arms only when I walked over to him. He held me close and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“You shouldda let me come see you, girl.” He said quietly. I pulled away and pressed my lips to his cheek, resting my hands on his shoulders.  
  
“I’m here now, okay?” I reasoned. “So you can bug me all you want and I can remind you how stupid you are.”  
  
Dave came out of his office, descending the stairs and smiling as he came up to me. “It’s good to have you back, kiddo.” He said, placing his hand on my cheek.  
  
“It’s good to be back.” I said honestly, marvelling at how much better I felt just being in the presence of these people. Maybe Spencer had been right, and there was some neurological basis for the notion that being with those you loved improved your health. JJ checked her watch and grabbed a pile of case files of the desk, handing them to all of us.  
  
“Let’s get started.”


	24. Giving In

_"The ultimate choice for a man, in as much as he is given to transcend himself, is to create or destroy, to love or to hate." – Erich Fromm_

* * *

  
Already he had begun the rounds; wandering in and out of the rooms with rehearsed familiarity. Steps he’d taken so many times before there would be grooves worn into the wood soon enough. I didn’t bother to contain the smile on my face as he made it all the way to the closet at the end of the hall before stopping. Only then did he turn with a half confused-half amused look and laugh.  
  
“Old habits, I guess.” He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over one of the breakfast stools before joining me on the couch. These spots were so claimed by our bodies in these specific positions that I imagined the imprints that would be left.  
  
These were things that went unnoticed: the little things that proved that yes, at some point in the past or present someone lived in this space. Worn floorboards, imprinted couches, pennies lodged between cushions, water spots on plumbing fixtures—these things could not be alphabetized or organized or colour-coded.  
  
After spending enough time with anyone you learned to respect the unspoken claims that were made on certain objects. The middle cushion was always mine—the right, his; I always used light-coloured mugs—him, dark; the bottom-most hook on any given coat rack was always my first choice—his, the top. Like counting freckles, you never noticed how numerous these tidbits of uniqueness were; nor, most times, how important they were despite their minute size and significance in the grand scheme of things.  
  
But these were all the structure of our lives. Reliable things that could be noticed when needed and ignored when not. It was kind of like the way we all have memories that seem pointless: a tree in the school yard or a stranger’s face you only saw once or a completely un-remarkable fragment of an abhorrently average day. If we only remembered important things, well, we’d have quite a poor life to recall.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
His voice tore me from my day-dreaming and I looked over at him. His eyebrows were raised slightly and he turned towards me more as if he thought I had something important to say. But I didn’t. Have anything to say. But there was something I’d been waiting a long time to do, and for some reason I felt like if I didn’t do it now I never would. So, without hesitating a moment longer, I leaned forward and pulled his lips to mine. For a moment, at least, he indulged me; but soon enough he pulled away.  
  
“Natasha—”  
  
“What?” I said, slightly irritated. “Hotch, I like to think I’m half-decent at my job—you know, reading people?”  
  
“It…It isn’t that, it’s just…”  
  
“What then?” I huffed, sitting back. “Look, if you tell me you’re not feeling this then I’ll back off and we’ll act like none of this ever happened. But if there’s any part of you that feels something more...”  
  
“It’s not that simple.” I held his eyes for a moment, waiting for something more, but that was where he stopped. With a sigh I began to push myself up, but he reached out to keep me put. “Wait…Natasha there’s just so many factors that need considering.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Our jobs, for instance. There’s protocol involving—”  
  
“Penelope and Kevin. The team all knows about them, they never got reported.”  
  
“Have you considered the possibility that maybe I’m too old for—”  
  
“Hotch, do you really think I would have kissed you if I gave a damn about that kind of thing?”  
  
“Then there’s the issue of…Jack.” At this I calmed, because it wasn’t something that could just be dismissed.  
  
“That, I can understand. If…if we’re going to do this and Jack decides he doesn’t like what’s going on then we’ll call it quits. He comes first, I get that.” He wore a weary expression. I cupped his face in my hands, forcing his eyes to mine. “Look Aaron…You kind of get your priorities straight when you’re almost stabbed to death. I don’t want to hide things anymore; I don’t want any more games.”  
  
For a while—it felt like an eternity, though it was probably only a few moments—his eyes searched mine; looking, looking for some other reason to throw at me or an obstacle we’d have to overcome. I wasn’t stupid enough to think he was doing this because he _didn’t_ want something more: he was doing it because he did, and they were just the reason and logic side of him trying to make themselves heard. Left brain versus right ventricle. Or collective unconsciousness.  
  
Eventually, with nowhere left to run, head caved to heart and he gave in. His hands were steady as they rose to pull me towards him. In a heartbeat his hand flattened against my back, bringing me closer to him. I didn’t hesitate to crawl forward, securing my arms around his neck. My heart was racing, fingers winding their way into his hair. I began to tug at his tie, getting to my feet and pulling him with me. Taking careful steps backwards, we inched down the hall and into the first door on the right. He stopped at the threshold as I worked open the knot of his tie.  
  
“Tash—”  
  
“Oh just shut up and take your goddamn shirt off.”  
  
Without waiting for his approval I removed my own, eagerly meeting his lips once more as we shed our layers in unison. Layers of tension, layers of boundaries, layers and layers of paperwork, they fell to the floor in crumpled heaps of uselessness. These forgotten barriers that we willingly forbade from separating us any longer.  
  
The curtains were closed—just as they were any day after 5 o’clock. It was always to ensure privacy (although more recent events had called for their permanent closure) not that there was usually anything to see. However tonight’s would-be Peeping Toms would have done well to bring a blanket and popcorn. They would be on the edge of their seats as my back met the mattress, his fingers winding into mine as his lips moved down my neck and chest.  
  
This was definitely not in the job description.  
  
I wondered if he’d been with anyone since his wife died; he definitely wasn’t the one-night stand type. I hadn’t given the possibility of this scenario much thought, but the times I did I always predicted it to feel the same as it had with Luke. With him it was never like this. Never comfortable or safe. It was too angry, but maybe that was just Deimos. I hurried to push the thought out of my head. All I knew was that with Luke it was difficult enough because although a few years had passed I kept thinking about what Ares did to me. For so long any form of intimacy had been ruined—even with Luke I didn’t have that. I thought it had been lost. But I’d had much longer to get over it now, to move on.  
  
Things were different.  
  
He was gentle and attentive and in tune with everything I felt. He knew, without me having to say a word, what the boundaries were. What to do but more importantly what not to. He kept bringing his lips to mine, the action muffling the sounds escaping me. His hands released mine, one trailing over the bumps marking where I’d been sown back together before slipping under my arched back and the other tucking under my head. My hands wound up and secured themselves behind his neck.  
  
Eyes rolling into the back of my head, the lungs in my chest worked overtime to keep up with the pace of my breath, the rate of my heart. I thought about the weirdness of the whole situation as my head lolled back onto the pillow. I struggled to control myself as my nails scraped down his neck, musing at the absolute correctness of everything. How it felt, but more importantly who it was with. Things felt safe.  
  
Things felt right.  
  


* * *

  
“Hotch, what happened to your neck?” Spencer asked, eyeing the red marks trailing out from behind his collar. I held my breath and did my best to act like I didn’t recognize the nail marks I’d left behind. He was quick to come up with a cover story, but unlike Spencer and the others Derek didn’t seem to be buying it.  
  
“I went camping with Jack last weekend and the mosquitos were horrible.” Hotch kept his eyes on the file in his hands as everyone’s focus shifted back to whatever they were doing before. Except, of course, Derek. He turned to me, analyzing my every nervous twitch.  
  
“You like camping, don’t you Tash?” He challenged. Inside I was squirming—but I had to focus on my current objective: successfully duping a plane full of behavioural analysts. My eyes did not grow wide, I did not shift my body away from Derek or put anything between us. Instead I took the cheap way out.  
  
“Actually, I’ve never been. The closest I ever got to the woods was when a psychopath trapped me there.”  
  
That quickly killed the conversation and I resisted the urge to glance over at Hotch. I wanted to get up, to move far away from Derek and the knowing looks he kept throwing at me—but to do that would be to inadvertently admit he was right. He probably knew he was, anyways, judging from what he’d said when I was in the hospital about Hotch’s actions.  
  
Derek knew Hotch had been at my place yesterday. I began to panic, thinking _what if he came by my place yesterday and heard us?_ But it didn’t make sense: not once in our entire friendship had Derek ever just ‘dropped in’ on me. He always called first—and we rarely ever hung out at my place. We always went out somewhere. No, he didn’t hear anything. I would still have to do some damage control when we landed, though. I had to do something to stop any future plans of his for ongoing innuendos.  
  
I tried to focus on the case but my mind just kept drifting to the previous night’s events. This was exactly why fraternization between coworkers wasn’t allowed. It caused distractions and removed all objectivity. Hotch seemed to do a great job at pretending like nothing was different; I just needed to learn to be more like him. Separate work life from private life. But I couldn’t get two sentences into a paragraph without my thoughts leaving the page.  
  
We hadn’t even properly discussed what on earth it was we were; what this thing was that we were involved in. I figured it was best that we didn’t explicitly give it a name. It would be easier to deny if there wasn’t an official title. And there I was again: overthinking everything for the hundredth time. I forced myself into the case file, gluing my eyes to every detail in an attempt to actually do what I was trying to: read the stupid file.  
  
“Morgan and Natasha take victimology, Reid—see if there’s any geographical profile you can make. Rossi and Prentiss with me, we’ll visit the first crime scene. JJ I need you to stay at the station in case any more families come forward.”  
  
Part of me wondered if this was Hotch’s attempt at helping me without communicating. Pairing Derek and I together would give me the opportunity I needed to shut him up, stop him before he really started. If there was anything I was certain of in regards to Hotch and I, it was that we absolutely had to keep things quiet. I figured I could wait until Derek and I were alone and then ask him about. With a plan set in motion I could at last find the control to focus on reading the case file.  
  
When we landed I was almost anxious to get off the plane. It meant I was getting closer to putting my fears to rest. We went through the usual actions—greetings with the police chief or lead detective, a quick tour of our temporary facilities and a promise that we’d been linked up to Garcia. The team sat down for one last run-over in our designated meeting room before breaking and setting out to do each predetermined job.  
  
Spencer and JJ were taking longer to leave, though, and so I tried to come up with a casual way to make them disappear. Spencer was pacing around the room searching for the map that he’d requested over the phone. JJ was on the phone with her husband, her panicked tone regarding something about Henry dissipating as she was reassured. I kept my eyes averted from Derek as I sifted through the files that were left for us to use. After a few minutes JJ told Will she had to call him back and that another call was coming through. Another family had come forward as having suspected being victimized by our unsub. She started to walk out of the room as she delivered directions on what they needed to bring.  
  
“Spence, why don’t you ask Saunders where he put the map?” I offered as JJ left the room. He stood with a perplexed look on his face as he scanned the room for any hiding places he might have missed.  
  
“I guess I’ll have to.”  
  
“Morgan, you need to stop.” I said quietly once the room was cleared out. He smirked as he turned to me, crossing his arms across his chest and tilting his head to the side.  
  
“Stop what, T-Bird?” He pushed. I rolled my eyes and turned away from him, shaking my head.  
  
“You know what.”  
  
“So I’m right, then?” He followed me around the room as I started to pin up the pictures of the deceased on the evidence board. “You and Hotch?”  
  
“Shut up!” I hissed, spinning around to face him. I looked around anxiously to make sure no one was around to hear. “I’m serious, Derek. You can’t keep dropping hints. No one else can know. _You_ aren’t even supposed to know.”  
  
“Alright, I hear you Tash.” He eased up on the cockiness, but the smile didn’t fade. “So how long has it been?”  
  
“I am _not_ discussing this with you. Least of all now, we’ve got a case to work.”  
  
“You’ll have to tell me eventually, girl.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” I challenged, looking him dead in the eye. “I guess everyone should know about the time you got completely wasted and I caught your antics on film?”  
  
“Blackmail, now _that_ is a criminal offence.”  
  
“Trust me, so were half the things you did that night.”  
  
“Check and mate.” He laughed in defeat, helping me set up the boards. And, just as quickly as the teasing had begun, he switched right back into Profiler mode. “Alright, so what’ve we got?”


	25. Perks

_"It was once said that love is giving someone the ability to destroy you, but trusting them not to." - Unknown_

* * *

  
The book in my hands caught on the opening of my go bag as I tried to shove it in. Everyone else started to file by as I rubbed the sleep from my leaden eyes and pulled the zipper up on the black bag. Stretching, I got to my feet and ran my hand through my hair, following everyone across the tarmac and into our building. My go bag clunked on my desk as I zipped up my jacket. JJ and Emily said goodbye to me on their way out and I busied myself gathering what I would need so I could call it a night.  
  
“Natasha, could I see you in my office for a moment?” Hotch called from his office door. I trudged up the stairs and into his room, nodding to him as he shuffled with things on his desk.  
  
“What’s up?” I asked, suppressing a yawn. He hesitated for a moment, looking almost nervous, before he spoke.  
  
“Do you…want to go to dinner sometime?” He asked, looking up at me. It knocked the sleep right out of me, my eyebrows rising at the proposal as I laughed. I shot a tentative look at the open door and pushed it closed.  
  
“I didn’t know we had the luxury of going on dates.”  
  
“Well we have sort of done this thing a bit backwards.” He smiled. He was right, though. You usually start with the dates and end with sex, not the other way around.  
  
“I’d love to, though.” I said honestly, my stomach knotting slightly. “There’s this place I’ve been dying to try just around the corner from my place, it’s called Rosewater.”  
  
“Does Saturday at 7 work?”  
  
“It sure does.” I tried to contain the stupid smile on my face. All the blinds were, regrettably, open; which meant anyone could look up at any time. “Maybe you should walk me to the door.”  
  
He looked confused for a moment but indulged me nonetheless, following me to the only blind spot in the entire office. From here, no one could see us. I turned when I reached the door, grabbing hold of his tie and pulling his lips to mine.  
  
“Goodnight, Bossman.” I released him and we wiped our faces of emotion, returning to the acceptable distance of coworkers as he opened the door and let me out. We chattered on for a moment about some case in the event anyone had been listening in.  
  
When I got to the elevators I immediately called Penelope, working quickly to organize a girls’ night with her, Emily, and JJ for Friday night. Of course she was all for it, but I decided to leave out the part about why I actually wanted them all together.  
  
We made it through the rest of the work week and rejoiced at the fact that for the first time in what felt like ages we actually had a Friday that ended when it was supposed to. We had our weekend. The girls all followed after me in their cars when we left work, all of them claiming a spot in the visitors parking and meeting me at the entrance to the building.  
  
I had been sure to stock up on the wine specifically for tonight, and when we got into my apartment we wasted no time in starting on the first bottle. It was nice spending time with them all outside of the office, something we so rarely got to do. The TV had been put on for some background noise but there wasn’t a moment the whole night when it wasn’t drowned out by our voices. All of the laughter left me with a pain in my side, but a good kind of pain. As the last drops of the third bottle were drained, I decided to come clean.  
  
“Alright, girls. I had an ulterior motive when I invited you over tonight…” I sat on the table in front of them and watched as their expressions changed. “The thing is…I’m going on a date tomorrow.”  
  
“What!?” Penelope yelled. “Oh my God. You have to tell us everything. Who is he? What’s he like? Where’d you meet him? Is he handsome?”  
  
“Slow down, Pen.” I said as the others laughed. I needed to be careful what I said so that I wouldn’t give the actual truth away. “I don’t want to tell you too much about him because it’s just a first date, you know?”  
  
“You are so cruel.” Penelope huffed. Technically, it was just the first date. I hadn’t lied about that.  
  
“So where is he taking you?” Emily asked. I gave her a look.  
  
“Why, so you can set up surveillance? We’re just going out to dinner, nothing big.”  
  
“Dinner? Where you will be the dessert?” JJ asked, raising her eyebrows. I gaped at her, hitting her with a pillow and nearly missing her glass. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding.”  
  
“The problem is I have no idea what to wear or how to act considering the last date I was on was in university, so I need your help.”  
  
The three of them offered completely different sets of advice regarding how to act, what to say, and what to do; but a general consensus was made. They helped me pick out a dress—one that wasn’t too fancy, but not too simple either. It was ivory, ended just above my knee and had a thickly beaded neckline and sleeves. They coordinated my earrings and bracelet and helped me decide how to do my hair (we settled on straightening it).  
  
I promised them that, as they demanded, I would tell them all about it on Monday. Penelope tried a few more times over the course of the evening to get me to divulge something more about my so-called mystery man, but I wouldn’t budge. Part of me wondered if maybe it wasn’t such a good idea letting them know I was dating, because if they saw absolutely anything between Hotch and I they would likely draw the conclusion themselves; but if I couldn’t come right out and tell them I could at least use the other perks of our friendship—gossiping about it without details.  
  
When Saturday night rolled around I was ridiculously nervous given the context of the situation I was putting myself into. This wasn’t some stranger or a blind date, this was _Hotch_. After all the things that had happened since I met him, he was someone I should have been the most comfortable with. But even as I fixed up my hair, even as I touched up my lipstick and sprayed on my perfume, I still had this overwhelming fear that I would somehow mess this up.  
  
My gun, wallet, badge, and cellphone fit perfectly into my clutch which I shoved into my coat pocket along with my keys. It was only a ten minute walk away from my house, but I still picked the most comfortable set of heels I had so that the journey would be as painless as possible. The weather couldn’t have been more perfect—not too hot with a good breeze, one that pushed all of the sounds and smells of the blocks into you. The doors to the restaurant were set in a stone doorway that looked like it’d been taken right out of a relic. Inside, all the noise from the city outside was muted and I was submerged in a calmness. A pianist sat on a platform at the back of the dining hall, keying out a gentle tune. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling in intervals, their glow matching the muteness of the candle-topped tables. There was a water-wall near the entrance to the kitchens and a fireplace on the opposite side of the room. There was no part of me that would have come here on my own: but it would be a nice treat.  
  
“Do you have a reservation, ma’am?” The waiter asked from the podium. It was 7:00 on the dot and I wondered if perhaps I was early.  
  
“It should be under Hotchner?” He skimmed through the book marked with names and check marks and highlighted parts until his finger found the right name. With a smile he led me into the jungle of tables. When we drew closer to the fireplace I caught sight of him: a dark blue dress shirt matched with black slacks. He got to his feet, smoothing the front of his shirt as he so often did with his suit jackets. He completely disregarded the waiter, embracing me before pulling out my chair for me to sit in. The waiter handed us our menus along with the wine selection.  
  
“You look beautiful.” He said, a blush rushing to my cheeks.  
  
“Well you’re quite dashing yourself.” I tucked in my chair, glancing around the place and musing at the beauty. The ceiling was painted like a church’s, excruciatingly detailed. We decided on a wine from the list and started mulling over the food choices. “So how’s Jack?”  
  
“Wondering when he gets to see you again.” He teased. “He asks about you all the time.”  
  
“I still feel like crap for missing out on his game a few weeks ago.”  
  
“Well he’s playing again next week if you’d like to come.”  
  
“Definitely.” I smiled, lowering my eyes to the menu in an attempt to look less giddy. I wanted to kick myself for feeling so nervous and stupid. It was just dinner, and for God’s sake he’d already seen me naked. When the waiter came around to our table we placed our orders as the wine arrived. “So there are things we must discuss.”  
  
“Like what?” He mused, taking a sip from his glass.  
  
“We know all about work and family and that kind of thing, but it’s like we skipped over the basics. Again, we’re slightly backwards.” I couldn’t help but laugh at how true that notion was panning out to be. “So tell me your favourites. What’s your number one band or album or song?”  
  
“Hands down, The Beatles. The White Album.”  
  
“You’re going Charles Manson on me now, huh?” I teased as he shook his head.  
  
“Just because he hijacked the record doesn’t mean it has to be ruined for the rest of us.” He reasoned. “What about you?”  
  
“I’m a Sinatra girl at heart. I could listen to that man sing the phone book.” I tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “More importantly, though: the movie you could watch a hundred times over and never get sick of it—go.”  
  
“Probably…Raiders of the Lost Ark. But Pulp Fiction is a close second.”  
  
“Really? I never would have pegged you for a Tarantino kind of guy.” The pianist finished his song and the soundtrack fell to the hum of a hundred conversations while he prepared for the next piece. “My favourite would have to be The Empire Strikes Back.”  
  
He withheld a laugh and raised his eyebrows at me. “Star Wars?”  
  
“I grew up with Spencer Reid, of _course_ I’m into sci-fi. Mind you my close second would be Casablanca, which is pretty much on the opposite end of the spectrum.”  
  
“Well I’ll give you Casablanca, but I never really got into Star Wars.” He said, laughing as I gaped at him. “It just wasn’t something I gave a lot of time to.”  
  
“Oh honey, you should not have told me that. You do realize that now I have to steal you for a whole weekend and subject you to a Star Wars marathon, right?”  
  
“If you say it’s that good then I’ll come voluntarily.”  
  
“I don’t think a kidnapping charge would look too good when you work for the FBI.”  
  
The food came and we were quiet for a moment as we did the initial tasting. Soon after, though, we lapsed back into comfortable conversation about anything that came up—books and other movies and things you talked about on a typical first date. I hadn’t had such a nice time out since before the whole Ares thing, when the team went out to Malone’s. When we finished our food and the plates were taken away and our glasses were refilled I risked bringing something up that wasn’t strictly first-date approved.  
  
“Can I ask you something?” My voice dropped, as if somehow what we were talking about was taboo. He nodded and I took a breath. “When did you know? I mean, how you felt?”  
  
He thought about it for a moment before answering. “I think I knew the night you were almost taken.”  
  
It was odd to have even a sliver of something that happened that night remain a happy memory; at least now, it could be. “I don’t think I was sure of anything until we got back from the prison in Connecticut and I was talking to Jack…He’s quite the kid.”  
  
From across the table he reached over and took my hand. We talked more until the bill came—which I tried to pay half of but he insisted on covering—and then he offered to drive me home. Under normal circumstances I would have insisted that I’d be fine walking home, but I wasn’t exactly in a rush to leave his presence.  
  
When we got to his car he opened the door for me, the gentleman act something I knew I would never grow tired of. Even in the car we didn’t run out of things to talk about, laughter bouncing off of the windows and echoing into the backseats. If I was certain of anything, it was that I didn’t want this night to end. I loathed how short the road seemed, I detested the parking lot for having so many spots, and I hated the car for not having any problems. A sigh escaped me as we exited the car, walking up the stairs and to the elevator. We held hands as each floor number lit up, finally bringing us to the fifth level. At my door we stopped, my heart aching for a reason to keep him here.  
  
“Before you go,” He began, pulling a long and narrow black box from his pocket and holding it out for me to take. “I hope you like it.”  
  
“Oh, what have you done?” I weakly complained, hesitating a moment before reaching out to take it.  
  
“Why do you have such an aversion to gifts?” He laughed as I shook my head at him.  
  
“When people spend money on me it just makes me feel guilty.” I mumbled half-heartedly before prying open the box and staring in awe. It was a silver necklace with a purple teardrop gem surrounded by silver. “Jesus, did you profile my favourite colour too? It’s…It’s beautiful.”  
  
“Here.” He worked at getting it out of the box as I bit back my ridiculous grin and lifted my hair out of the way. I turned my back to him and he fit it around my neck. Releasing my hair, I looked down at the pendant and just smiled.  
  
For the first time, he leaned forward and kissed me. I barely hesitated before locking my hands at the back of his head as his found their place on my waist. I groaned when we pulled away, resting my forehead against his.  
  
“Next time can we just fast forward to the fourth or fifth date so I can invite you in?” I whined, kissing him briefly again before finally releasing him. “But thank you, tonight was lovely.”  
  
We said goodnight and I begrudgingly left him on the other side of my door, kicking off my heels and waiting until I heard the sound of the elevator doors closing before retreating further into my apartment. I peeled off my dress and collapsed onto my bed, trying to calm the excitement in my stomach.  
  


* * *

  
“Where’s Morgan and Rossi?” Spencer asked as the rest of us sat in the conference room, ready to start the case.  
  
“Stuck in traffic,” JJ explained. “They should be here soon though.”  
  
“Perfect, this gives us time for an early interrogation!” Penelope mused, wheeling her chair over to me as I understood what she meant. “So spill, sweetheart! How was the big date?”  
  
“It was _perfect_.” It was amusing talking about this when Hotch was two seats away and everyone else oblivious to the fact that I was referring to him. “Everything a first date is supposed to be.”  
  
“Are you seeing him again?” Emily asked, nudging at me with her foot.  
  
“I think I’ll be seeing him a lot.”  
  
“Tell us what he’s like! Is he tall? Is he strong? Does he dress well? Oh! Is he one of those guys that looks just as good dressed as he does not?”  
  
“It was one date, they haven’t gone there yet Garcia.” JJ laughed, reeling Penelope out of her ramble.  
  
“He is very attractive, I can promise you that. I don’t want to tell you too much because I don’t want to be honeymooning it.”  
  
“Honeymooning?” Emily asked.  
  
“It’s the stage in a relationship where everything is perfect and you just kiss and laugh and screw each other’s brains out.” Penelope explained as Derek and David walked into the room. We settled down after that, acting like nothing had happened, and waited for JJ to start the briefing.


	26. Explanations

“Camouflage is a game we all like to play, but our secrets are as surely revealed by what we want to seem to be as by what we want to conceal.” – Russell Lynes

* * *

  
It was hard, sometimes, trying to find the balance in between acting normal but not too friendly when there were others around. He broke the habit of driving me home, but we were very good at keeping secret the fact we spent a lot of nights together. It made me grumpy, sometimes, that I couldn’t just kiss him whenever I felt like it.  
  
But the fact of the matter was, we weren’t supposed to be both co-workers and romantically involved. It didn’t interfere with our ability to do our jobs, but I understood why the rule was there. I just really didn’t give a damn about breaking it. The problem was Derek already knew, and although I trusted him to keep his mouth shut I didn’t like lying to the rest of the team.  
  
We had to do silly things to make up for our guilty consciences like never be alone in a room with the door closed (or open, even) for any prolonged period of time. We may have been overcompensating a bit by steering clear of any nicknames. We never, under any circumstances, made physical contact in front of others. Which, in all honesty, was annoying. I knew full well there were things we could do when no one was looking. Simple things, like holding hands.  
  
But if we wanted things to work out there were sacrifices to be made. We more than made up for it outside of the workplace. Things had sort of happened with perfect timing. It was best for me to have someone there when I woke up some nights, still half-convinced that my nightmare world with Ares was real. I didn’t know why he dealt with all of my baggage, all of my antics, but I sure was glad he did.  
  
The bottom line was that I just really liked having him around. I just really liked _him_. Everything about him. And it certainly made things easier given that Jack took to me like a moth to a flame. Sometimes it scared me, how completely normal it felt spending weekends with the two of them, doing _normal_ things like picnics or going to the movies or watching Jack’s soccer games.  
  
Some part of me, deep down, knew that it wouldn’t last. Not necessarily the relationship itself, but our ability to keep the lid on it. It happened on the day of our 3 month anniversary—nothing that warranted any fancy celebration, but just something to be acknowledged. It was my fault, of course. He was so much better at restraining himself than I was. The few times we had almost gotten caught it was because of me; so it only made sense that the time we actually did was courtesy of Natasha Reid.  
  
We were in the conference room, our debriefing had just wrapped up and everyone had left to get their go bags. The blinds were shut from the last group to use the room, and I planned on taking full advantage of that. I wrapped my arms around his middle, smirking at the nervous look he shot at the door as I asked what we were doing when we got back from Delaware. I leaned up and kissed him, holding him even as he tried to pull away. I should have let him end it.  
  
“I just left my—Oh, uh—Sorry!” We flew apart, my eyes growing wide as I took in the site of Emily and JJ standing at the door, just as shocked as we were.  
  
“ _Oh my God_.” I whispered, clasping a hand over my mouth and turning away from them completely as they apologized again and quickly left. I didn’t want to turn around and see the look on his face. It would be such a blatant ‘I told you so’—one he would never say aloud. My apology was muffled by my hand, but he knew what I said.  
  
“It’s okay, we’ll…Should we tell everyone?” It was the first time I’d ever heard any amount of uncertainty in his voice, and it made me even more nervous and embarrassed.  
  
“Well, considering the fact that half of them know now…I—I don’t know. It’s your call. I’m sorry.”  
  
“We would have had to tell them eventually.” He reasoned, his eyes glued to the open doorway. I wanted to shrink into the background, I wanted to take it all back; the guilt was crushing me—and the fact that he wasn’t the least bit angry with me made me feel even worse. He looked at his watch and I knew we had a plane to catch in an hour; more than enough time to come clean.  
  
“I’ll go get them.” I said, apologizing again and slipping out of the room. Emily and JJ looked up at me from Derek’s desk and quickly tried to look away. I waved them over and told them to get everyone back in the conference room, including Garcia. I went back inside, my heart pounding and my stomach swirling with an insane amount of nervousness.  
  
I knew what they would all think; they would go into profiler mode without even meaning to. The fact that Hotch was older had to mean I had daddy issues, his status meant I fit the stereotypical female desire for an alpha-male partner, but most importantly our feelings had developed out of a victim-saviour relationship. These are things they would think about automatically. They would size up every move. Nothing would ever be the same. Everything would always be taken in the context that we were seeing each other.  
  
The majority of me wanted to just abandon ship, to go away and hide from this conversation. I figured, at least, I was really only telling Penelope and Rossi and Spencer—oh God, _Spencer_. What was he going to think? I gave one last look of desperation at Hotch before the others came in, the majority of them sporting puzzled looks.  
  
“Did something new come in on the case?” Derek asked as Hotch asked everyone to sit down. They waited quietly, JJ and Emily trying to hide their smiles as our boss tried to find the right way to admit he was breaking the rules with a member of the team. Before the silence killed us all I just came right out and said it.  
  
“Look, as some of you have just witnessed we’re kind of…romantically involved.”  
  
“We? We? Who is we?” Penelope asked, leaning forward in her chair with anticipation. I motioned to Hotch, shaking my head and heaving out a sigh as her jaw dropped.  
  
“It hasn’t interfered with our job and it won’t in the future so we’d appreciate it if this was kept between us.” He said, everyone nodding in agreement.  
  
“Hey, life’s too short to be unhappy.” Rossi said with a crooked smile, looking at the two of us. Hotch dismissed us and I was first out of the room.  
  
“Natasha!” Emily nudged me as I left the room. I was being followed by her, JJ, and Penelope, all of them wearing incredulous looks on their face. I raised my eyebrows at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”  
  
“How exactly does something like that come up in conversation?” I pointed out, crossing my arms. “Hey, there’s a new movie playing this weekend that looks good—oh by the way, I’m _screwing our boss_.”  
  
“Just when I thought nothing scandalous would ever happen in this office.” JJ teased as I gave her a look.  
  
“You could have told us, we are very good secret keepers!” Penelope promised.  
  
“Well you’re going to have to be now.” I said seriously. “No one else can find out. None of you are supposed to know, really.”  
  
“Our lips are sealed, my queen.” Penelope said as they steered me to Emily’s desk. Penelope slapped her forehead, eyes filling with an epiphany as her jaw dropped once more. “The date you went on! That was with H—with _him_!” She caught her slip up just in time and the three of us gave her a look.  
  
“Yes, Penelope.” I laughed. “God, please tell me this isn’t going to turn into 21 questions. We really shouldn’t be talking about this stuff at work. We have a jet to catch.”  
  
“You do realize that when we get back we’re going out for drinks and grilling you.” JJ teased.  
  
“I second that notion.” Emily smirked.  
  
“As if I even have to say anything.” Penelope added before bidding us farewell. “Oh, wait—not telling anyone doesn’t include Kevin, right?”  
  
“Just for you, Pen.” I shook my head, but caught sight of Spencer. I told the girls I’d talk to them later and headed off towards him. We walked in silence for a moment before I finally worked up the courage to talk. “Are you okay with this?”  
  
“Despite your best efforts at hiding things, I’ve known about this for a while now.” He smiled smugly, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his feet. I panicked, running through all the close-calls we had and trying to figure out which one had given us away. “It wasn’t anything you did. I just know you better; I know how you act when you’re in love. You would have told me if it was Morgan, it wasn’t Rossi, and you never go out so there was really only one possibility. But yes, for the record, I am okay with it. I think he’s good for you.”  
  
I didn’t even bother trying to contain the smile that spread across my face as I pulled him into a hug. “Thanks, Spence.”  
  
“Although,” He began as he pulled away. “I won’t exactly be able to give the stereotypical talk about treating you right ‘or else’ because…well, I work for him.”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Reid.” Hotch said from behind him, go bag in hand. “We should get going.”  
  
We met everyone else on the jet and I was careful not to sit close to Hotch. We were officially on the job, and it would be bad enough with everyone knowing about us without them watching to see if they caught any interaction between us. The thing was Hotch was just so good at separating work from his personal life. The moment we got onto the jet, the moment we started working a case it was like there was nothing between us.  
  
Which, of course, was better for everyone. It was the right thing to do. There was no special treatment and no bending of rules for my sake about anything—not that I ever tried. It took a few minutes for the looks to stop being cast on the plane but I immersed myself in the case file as directions were rattled off and questions were brought up.  
  
As promised, the girls forced me out for drinks three days later when we wrapped up the case and came home. They weren’t overly invasive about what they wanted to know, but I just felt so weird being able to finally talk about it openly. No codenames, no secrets; lying just takes so much out of you. I had cleared things with Hotch while we were still in Delaware to make sure he was alright with the girls asking some questions. I think he was just relieved Derek and Rossi wouldn’t subject him to the same kind of treatment.  
  
It was funny to think that now it would be me who the girls spent their time gossiping about in the dead time between cases until something new popped up. All I knew was that things were much easier now that I didn’t have to sneak around as much when we were around the team. And it certainly helped now that I could discuss things with Emily, JJ, and Penelope.  
  
Finally, the chance to confide.


	27. Protocol

_“Let me remind you of the old maxim: people under suspicion are better moving than at rest, since at rest they may be sitting in the balance without knowing it, being weighed together with their sins.” – Franz Kafka_

* * *

  
  
When your office was responsible for profiling the killers of the country, it wasn’t often that you got a quiet spell. Not that anyone complained when it happened—in fact, it was something no one talked about, as if doing so would somehow jinx it. We hadn’t had a case all day, and everyone was taking advantage of the down time to get caught up on our piles and piles of paperwork that needed to be filled out. All the reports were simple to do but took forever to complete: the price of good documentation.  
  
My hands were cramping up and my legs were growing restless and it felt like a million pins were in my feet as they slowly fell asleep. I hadn’t spent this much time sitting down since I’d been recovering at home. My brain and body were craving stimulation, and everyone else was too focused for me to disturb them. With a sigh I pushed away from my desk, spinning in the chair and getting to my feet. The hunt was on for a candy bar or something: anything but more coffee.  
  
I got my hands on an Aero bar and retreated to Penelope’s office for a break. We played a few games of cards and I helped her fix the cracking nail polish on her fingers. We talked and made plans for another girls night in the future (if work permitted) before she got a call of Kevin. I promised that I’d come back later and left her to her conversation.  
  
On my way back to my desk I noticed that the blinds of Hotch’s office were still closed. He’d had a meeting with someone up high earlier in the day and apparently hadn’t gotten around to opening them again. They were almost never closed because he wanted to be transparent, to make all of us feel like equals even though we didn’t have an office or a door. This was one of the most important steps to keeping employees happy.  
  
Without hesitating long enough to talk myself out of it, I changed directions last minute and headed up the stairs. Knocking on the door, he smiled and motioned for me to come in while he continued a conversation on the phone. I closed the door and quietly locked it behind me, wandering around the office until finally said goodbye and hung up. He rambled on a bit about who had called, but I wasn’t paying any attention.  
  
Walking around the desk, I smirked as confusion overtook his features. He rolled his chair back and turned to face me, waiting for some kind of explanation for my behaviour. I didn’t wait for an invitation to bring his lips to mine, but he pulled away almost instantly and glanced back at the glass that was almost always uncovered.  
  
“Blinds are shut, door is closed and locked.” I muttered impatiently, bringing him back to me. He hesitated for a moment, the cautious side of him no doubt saying to stop: after all, the last time I’d kissed him at work we’d been walked in on. But that couldn’t happen this time, and I needed something to do, and I wanted him.  
  
It didn’t take long for his caution to be shut out and his hands to find their way along my body as I crawled on top of him. The sensation was completely different, given where we were. What was it, thrill? The risk of being caught? Whatever it was, it made everything more intense and made me desperate to be closer to him.  
  
His hands tangled into my hair as mine wrapped around his tie—a habit that’d started long ago. The longer we were together, the more everything else faded. My legs didn’t register the leather of the chair, the feel of his pinstripe pants. My lips had long forgotten about all the people working on the other side of the glass. All I knew, all I _wanted_ to know was him. It was only when I got up to pull off my underwear that he began to protest. With a laugh I climbed back onto to him.  
  
“We…we can’t.” He stuttered as I pressed my lips down his jaw and neck, trailing my hands down his chest and resting them at the edge of his pants. “Not…here.”  
  
“I’ll be quiet, I promise.” I waited for him to give in and kiss me again before I started working at the zipper. I knew that no matter what, I had to keep my promise because anyone could walk by the door at any time. If they heard a fraction of the noise I usually made, we would be in big trouble. His fingers slid under my shirt and trailed their way up my sides, dancing over my chest before working their way back down.  
  
The second I moved my hands down a knock came on the door, sending my heart rate off the charts as I began to panic. The voice that announced themself was that of Erin Strauss, a hard bitch who harboured some sort of animosity towards the world. I scrambled to my feet as Hotch asked for a minute, my fingers working furiously to fix my clothing and hair as he did the same.  
  
Grabbing a case file off of the desk, I started talking about the imaginary report I came to consult him on as he walked to the door and unlocked it. Greeting Strauss on my way out, I waited outside the door as she closed it and waited a moment before speaking.  
  
“I can’t remember the last time you locked your door.” She said as I pretended to flick through the file, praying no one saw me eavesdropping.  
  
“She just needed a place to talk.” He said, the chair squeaking as he sat down. The chair that sat at the desk, underneath which was the current residence of my underwear. I began to panic all over again. I couldn’t be here when she came out, I would have to find someplace to hide until he was finished talking to her and I could come back. But who knew how long that could take?  
  
“Agent Hotchner…I understand what she went through was a horrific thing, and that she would have need of someone to be there for her,” Strauss began.  
  
“No, you _know_ what she went through. With all due respect ma’am, you don’t understand what it’s like to be targeted and tortured. I’m responsible for the state of my agents.”  
  
“But your responsibilities do not include acting as a psychiatrist.”  
  
There was a silence that ensued which I took as my cue to leave. I hesitated going down the stairs, making sure no one was at the bottom that could look up and catch a glimpse of the outcome of my stupid impulses and poor decision making. What the hell was I thinking? How could it have ended well? I went to the only place that would be safe: Garcia’s.  
  
She beckoned me inside when I knocked on the door, immediately picking up on the panic I was exuding. I closed the door behind me and started pacing, heaving out a sigh and trying to calm myself down enough to explain what had just happened.  
  
“Is everything okay? You’re not hurt or something are you?”  
  
“No, I just…Pen, I just made a really big mistake.” Finally sitting down, I ran my fingers through my hair and explained what had happened from the top. She was hiding her smile at my behaviour only because of how things ended. “If she heard us, Pen…”  
  
“Don’t you think she would have said something to Hotch right away? I doubt she knew you were playing Harriet the Spy on the other side of the door.”  
  
“I don’t know. _God!_ ” I put my head in my hands. “I’m such an idiot.”  
  
“No you are not! Did I ever tell you about the time when Rossi came over to my apartment when Kevin and I just finished having shower sex? And this was back when no one knew about us! Everything ended up alright, so you’ll be fine. I promise.”  
  
“But that was Rossi. This is our boss’s boss.” My phone buzzed in my pocket and I checked it, a text from Hotch asking where I was. I told him and relayed to Garcia that he was coming here. She continued to calm me down to the best of her abilities, talking about the proof that Strauss would need if she ever wanted to be a malicious bitch about things. This continued for the brief time it took Hotch to get to Penelope’s office. He knocked once and then came inside.  
  
“Garcia, could you give us a moment please?”  
  
“Yes, my captain.” She said nervously, getting up and taking wide steps around him before leaving the two of us alone. He took a bundle of crumpled fabric from his pocket and handed it to me, waiting in silence as I slipped the garment back on.  
  
“I know, I messed up. Bad.”  
  
“I didn’t stop it, though.” He said as I held my breath, waiting for the verdict. “She didn’t say anything, so I don’t know if she suspects something…”  
  
I heaved out a sigh of relief. “Remind me to bring in a crossword puzzle in case of another dull day at work.”  
  
“Natasha,” He began, a look overtaking his features that started to make me nervous.  
  
“What?”  
  
“That was a _really_ close call.”  
  
“I get that, Hotch, but what do you want me to do?” I asked, resisting the urge to cross my arms over my chest. “I’m sorry, I screwed up. All I can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.”  
  
“It can’t happen again.”  
  
“What are you saying?”  
  
“I’m not—this isn’t me ending anything.” He explained quickly. “I just…think it might be best if we pulled back a bit. Just to be safe.”  
  
“Pulled back.” I let the words sink in, a thousand thoughts running through my head as I nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Absolutely. Sounds great.”  
  
“Tash—”  
  
“You know what,” I cut him off, looking down at my watch. “It’s almost time to clock out and I’m giving Spence a ride home. I’ll see you around.”  
  
Without hesitating a second I stepped around him and tried to ignore the burning sensation in my eyes. I didn’t know what I was feeling—anger, disappointment, sadness, or regret—all I knew was that it felt horrible. It was swelling inside of me even as I was approached by Garcia, who immediately read my face as thought something had happened with Strauss. I assured her that everything was fine and told Spencer it was time to go.  
  
I did my best not to be testy with him as he took ridiculously long to gather his things, managing to knock over his coffee and drop one of his case files in the process of leaving, forcing me to stay in the building so much longer than I wanted. I tried not to look as Hotch returned to his office, blinds now open just like his door.  
  
Spencer could tell something was up but I kept it to myself; partly because I didn’t want to talk about it and partly because I didn’t want to explain how everything had started. Almost getting caught having sex a few yards away from where he was sitting wouldn’t exactly make the most comfortable of stories. I dropped him off at his house and declined his request for me to go inside for coffee. He gave me that sad look that he did whenever he knew something was wrong and begrudgingly said goodbye, finally giving me peace.  
  
Hotch tried to call me a few times later that night but I let them go straight to voice mail. I ran through a routine of dinner, clean up, feeding the fish, working on whatever I’d brought home, and watching anything other than the news in an attempt to wind down so I could get some actual sleep. It didn’t work, though, and so I was stuck tossing and turning for most of the night, a heaviness in my heart.  
  
I hated this.


	28. Distance

_"The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place." – George Bernard Shaw_

* * *

  
Being a profiler at the BAU had a long list of requirements, but the number one thing that they should always put in the job description was _applicant must have virtually non-existent social life and prepare to marry the job_. How JJ did it with a husband and a kid was beyond me. We’d been in the middle of a girl’s night (Garcia using her godmother duties as an excuse to buy a bunch of stuff for Henry) when the call came.  
  
We were en route to Franklin, Alaska, where three people had died in less than a week. Given the small population of the town, this was a significant pattern and clearly pointed to our speciality: a serial killer. There were no connections between the victims and different kill methods were used every time, but the kill times were too close together for it to be multiple unsubs. Following the timeline we only had one more day until the killer would strike again, which meant we were all—even Garcia—flying over immediately.  
  
Out of all the girls, JJ was the one I was least close with (despite the fact that I adored her), but she was the only one I’d chosen to confide in about what was going on with Hotch. She was, after all, married; I figured she could understand the scenario best and also keep it secret. She’d told me that what I was feeling was justified, and that there was nothing I could really do except wait for the feelings to pass and then talk it out. There was no use talking if I still felt sour, it would only make me feel worse.  
  
“Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to work the crime scene—we need to know exactly how he ambushed his victims. Reid and Rossi, the bodies, find out what you can there. JJ and I will work victimology, and Natasha and Garcia I need you to look through the town records, find something we can use.”  
  
“Yes sir.” Garcia said, jotting things down on a notepad. “I should let everybody know that reception in the area is unreliable at best. I’m giving everyone satellite phones for communication, I’ve already preprogrammed all your digits into the speed dial—guess who’s lucky number 7?”  
  
She handed out the phones to everyone and I went through the contact list, memorizing which number directed to each person. We landed in Anchorage and had to transfer to another plane to make it to Franklin: it was a claustrophobically isolated town. It was so small that the police station doubled as the post office, leaving no room for us to set up and forcing us into an Inn across the street from the station. It felt odd, because it was such a small town we all were told to dress down and keep things casual to fit in better with the townspeople. I hadn’t dressed down for a job the entire time I’d been working at the BAU.  
  
Garcia and I found our way into the Inn and started setting up the computers, her feeding me directions while simultaneously linking up to the database so she could gain access to the records. Her fingertips were flying across the keyboard as a pair of feet came clunking down the steps, which were wooden—just like everything else here.  
  
“Whoa, what are you doing?” a boy asked, about 20 years old. He braced himself on the edge of the couch, looking at the screen with wonder.  
  
“I’m trying to make this place a little less analog.” Penelope said, waiting for a beat as the silence filled up before she realized her mistake. “Sorry, I forget my hacker jokes aren’t funny. My name is Penelope, and this is Agent Natasha Reid, we’re from the FBI. It’s my job to connect my kick-ass system to your sheriff’s database so I can get the skinny on your neighbours…and you.”  
  
“Or you could just ask us what you want to know.” He shrugged. “Isn’t it better to just talk to us directly than to look up our dirt secretly?”  
  
“Unfortunately, our experience shows us that information never lies.” I offered. “People do. Your name would be?”  
  
“Josh. That’s my mom, Carol. She owns the place.” Garcia nodded, cracking her fingers before showing him how she did her work, pulling up all his files and reading off facts about him. Where he went to school, where he used to live, that he moved back 3 weeks ago. He took a seat between us, watching the screen, and exchanging a few jokes with Penelope. “Guess I’m clean then, no dirt. That means I’m safe?”  
  
“For now.” I smiled faintly before asking for some privacy for us to get back to work. He apologized and left us to our digging.  
  
When the evening rolled around the team met up in the main area, Rossi loading up the fireplace as we exchanged what we’d found. Spencer explained that the way the bodies had been treated pointed to a psychopath. The case was tricky because it was such a small town that most people knew the kind of skills needed to kill, after growing up hunting and making fires, and that everyone pretty much knew everyone’s schedule.  
  
“How are we supposed to keep everyone safe?” JJ asked.  
  
“Sheriff, I highly suggest putting into effect a curfew until we catch the killer.” Hotch said. “Garcia, how’s it coming with town records?”  
  
“We ran everyone through CODIS, nothing’s come up so far. I’m going to pull an all-nighter, should have background checks done by sunrise.”  
  
“Okay. The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning.”  
  
“I’ve got four of the upstairs rooms available.” Carol said, holding a mug of tea at the outskirts of our circle.  
  
“Uh, four?” Spencer asked as I realized what this meant.  
  
“Looks like we’ll have to double up.” Hotch said.  
  
“I’m _not_ sleeping with Reid.” Derek said quickly, earning an offended look from Spencer. I met Hotch’s eyes by accident and quickly looked away, turning to my cousin.  
  
“It’s okay Spence, I’ll bunk with you.” I said, getting to my feet as Garcia grabbed Derek’s hand and claimed dibbs on him. Emily and JJ grouped up, leaving Hotch and Rossi to take the room with two single beds. I told Garcia that I could stay up and help her but she promised she’d be fine and shooed me off to bed. Spence and I entered the room that would be ours, the floorboards creaking with every step. “It’ll be like when we were kids.”  
  
“Something tells me we won’t be waking up to French toast.” He said, bags clunking on the floor. We took turns in the bathroom, changing and getting ready for an attempt at sleep. When I came out he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, one hand supporting his face as he stared at the case file. I joined him, the mattress squeaking as I moved. “We need to find some parameters to help narrow the suspect pool.”  
  
“Well,” I began, tying back my hair. “We know the likelihood of the killer being female, and to ambush the victims they’d have to be, what—between 16 and 60?”  
  
We continued this well into the night, neither of us willing to call it quits as we bounced ideas off of each other. When we realized we had pretty much reached our limit we lapsed into recalling events from our childhood. The time aunt Di let us camp in the backyard (where Spencer first started teaching me about Astronomy), the first time we pulled an all-nighter building the most epic of blanket forts, and the time I made a make-shift splint out of branches and a yo-yo string when he’d fallen out of a tree during a family vacation.  
  
The reminiscing was cut short by an alarming sound. Our room was the only one on the back side of the building, putting us closest to the forest the property backed onto. The window was open a crack to let in some fresh air, and through it I heard a scream.  
  
“Did you hear that?” My body stiffened as I strained to catch more noise. “It’s Garcia. Go get the others.”  
  
I grabbed my gun and pulled on my shoes, running down the stairs before he’d even gotten out of the room. My heart was racing and I tried not to think about the worst case scenario. I tried not to imagine Penelope’s dead body. The back of the property was full of trailers and old mobile homes, probably doubling as a storage ground for the town. When I turned the corner I saw Penelope kneeling by a body, tears streaming down her face as her hands shook.  
  
“Which way did he go?” I demanded, drawing my weapon and waiting for her response. She was too shaken up and I had to ask again. “Penelope, which way !?”  
  
She pointed off to the right and I followed after, flicking off the safety on my gun and wishing I’d remembered a sweater. I caught sight of a figure moving into the woods and I sped after him, running as fast as I could while trying to keep a visual. But as soon as I entered the tree line, my sight was gone. The branches were so thick that what little light there was couldn’t get through. I stopped for a moment, keeping my breathing quiet as I tried to listen for footsteps. It was silent.  
  
My eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark but I tried looking anyways, heart pounding out a beat in my chest. A twig cracked off to my left and I spun to face the sound, wincing as a gun was fired and something grazed across my temple. I jumped away immediately, instinctively clasping a hand to my head while trying to see the unsub. Every part of me wanted to go running into the dark, desperate to catch this guy for getting remotely close to Penelope; but the logical side of me knew that he’d gone for the kill shot. If I hadn’t turned my head, it would have gone straight through my skull and I’d be dead. As furious as it made me, I had to back off.  
  
“Tash?” Derek was calling my name from outside the forest. “Natasha!?”  
  
“I’m here.” I called back, walking towards the sound of his voice while casting nervous looks over my shoulder. He looked relieved only for a second until he caught sight of my head. “I’m fine, Derek, relax.”  
  
“Natasha, look at yourself.” He said wide eyed. I looked down and noticed for the first time the fountain of blood streaming down from my wound. He tried to pick me up but I insisted on walking back, promising that it was just a graze: head wounds always bled a lot. I winced at the looks I got when we made it inside, and forced Derek to go tend to a shaken Penelope. I knew just by her face that the person she’d been sitting beside didn’t make it. Spencer was on the phone calling the doctor as Emily gave me a towel to press against my head.  
  
“Here, let me.” Hotch moved to hold pressure but I pushed his hands away. He stood frozen and I tried to ignore the look on his face.  
  
“I’m fine.” I said curtly, turning to Spencer. “I don’t need a doctor, I just need a bandage, it just grazed me Spence.”  
  
Derek was trying to get Penelope to answer a few questions but they got into an argument and she stormed off. JJ promised to go up and check on her when she’d had some time alone. He turned his attention to me next, and I rolled my eyes.  
  
“Why didn’t you wait for back up?” He said sternly.  
  
“I didn’t know how long it would be before you guys showed up, I didn’t want him to get away. You would have done the same thing, Morgan. Don’t give me this talk.”  
  
“You could have been _killed_.”  
  
“Wouldn’t be the first time, sweetheart.” I wiped some of the blood from my face and neck before turning over to a clean side and pressing again. “What do we know about the victim?”  
  
“Morgan and I talked to him earlier today, he was pretty vocal about wanting to leave.” Emily said.  
  
“But this was different, we should have had another day. And he just happened to kill right outside the Inn we’re staying at?” I said. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence. He’s saying he’s not scared of us. He’s evolving.”  
  
“Judging from the wounds in his stomach I think he took a trophy of some sort, probably a liver or spleen. We’re probably looking at someone with abandonment issues.” Spencer added as the doctor (who doubled as the mortician) entered in a bathrobe and slippers. He came up and started tending to me despite my insisting that I was fine.  
  
“Alright, it’s getting close to morning. Let’s gather everyone and go over what we know.”  
  


* * *

  
Hotch and the sheriff had gone to talk to the principal at the local school about any children that may have exhibited homicidal tendencies at an early age. She came up with one kid who showed a little too much enthusiasm hunting: Josh, the tavern owner’s son. He was being interrogated at the station by Rossi and Hotch while Spencer, JJ, and I continued Garcia’s work where she’d been cut off.  
  
“Find any ties between Josh and the victims?” Emily asked.  
  
“They all have hunting licenses.” I offered sarcastically. “It’s like a needle in a haystack.”  
  
“We need Garcia.” JJ said.  
  
“Ready to go.” She said from behind us. JJ gently protested that she maybe should sit this one out, but she insisted otherwise. “Josh is your suspect?”  
  
“He fits the profile.”  
  
“No, it isn’t him. He knows me, he knows I’m a techie and I don’t carry a gun! If it was Josh, I would have been dead you guys.”  
  
We couldn’t rule him out solely on that, but it was something to keep in mind. Derek walked in as Penelope found something, the missing link. Thinking along the lines of the unsub’s profiled abandonment issues, she discovered that all of the victims were planning on leaving Franklin soon.  
  
“Welcome back, red delicious.” He teased, sitting beside me. She smiled but pushed on.  
  
“And here’s another girl who’s leaving in a few months, Kat Allen.”  
  
Morgan and Prentiss left to go talk to the girl and get her into protective custody. JJ got a call from Hotch and relayed that they’d placed Josh—along with about twenty other men—in prison for the night. The killer was due to strike again tonight and if he didn’t, it meant he was someone in the jail. Carol wasn’t very happy about it, but there was nothing we could do. There was this itching feeling in my stomach, something that told me Josh wasn’t the unsub.  
  
But it was just a feeling.  
  
That night none of us got much sleep. Spencer reminded me to change my bandage and played a few rounds of cards with me. He tried once to get me to talk about what was bothering me but I kept it from him. I left him sometime around 11, going down to the kitchen and getting myself a coffee.  
  
“How’s your head?” I cringed at the sound of his voice, keeping my back to him.  
  
“Fine, thanks.”  
  
“Do you think Josh is our unsub?” Hotch asked as I started to walk away.  
  
“It doesn’t matter what I think, you’re the one calling the shots.”  
  
“Natasha—” I would have kept walking but his phone started ringing and my heart dropped: it could only be one thing this late at night.  
  
I watched his face as he listened to the Sheriff, hearing the muffled explanation that there was another victim. The second he hung up I went to get everyone else.  
  
It fell on Spencer and Rossi to break the news to Josh in the morning at the station that his mother was the fifth victim. I didn’t want to imagine what it would be like: this wasn’t exactly a normal circumstance. He was in jail because of our call. He wasn’t there in his mother’s last moments because of a decision that we’d made.  
  
He was going to hate us.  
  
And with a very good reason. But Spencer called me afterwards and said that the way he was acting meant he knew who the killer was. The profile had changed when Rossi made a link between recent animal mutilations (previously credited to a vicious bear) as the red flag in homicidal triad 101. Not only was our unsub a psychopath, he was a teenager. A teenager with severe abandonment issues taking it out on anyone else who tried to leave—even if they weren’t directly leaving him.  
  
The take down went by in a blur. It was a rapid chain of events that kept us on the run the second Hotch left to talk again to the principal of the school. There was a boy, Owen, who Josh had been like a brother to before he left for school. He came from a troubled home and fit the profile to a tee. The problem was that by the time we made it to the residence he was already gone and Josh was leading a hunting party with a good head start and itching for a kill.  
  
Our only advantage was a tip from his mother, despite the fact that her abusive husband tried everything to keep her from talking. Owen was heading to Lake Lafayette, which gave us the chance to cut him off at the harbour. We all piled into the cars and barely had a chance to take cover before Owen came running down the docks, followed by the hunting party. There was a standoff that ended in the men chasing Owen surrendering and letting us taking him before anyone did something they would regret.  
  
I was more than relieved when we were finally on the plane back: if I never saw Franklin, Alaska again it would be too soon. None of us had gotten much sleep in our time there, so we were all pretty exhausted on the jet. There wasn’t a whole lot of talking: there usually wasn’t whenever we had a case involving kids—either victims or unsubs.  
  
We were halfway home when I got up to make a coffee: my mistake. The spoon clanked against the sides of the mug as I mixed in the cream. My system was so strained that I didn’t hear him coming until he was right beside me. With a sigh I turned away slightly, searching for the sugar.  
  
“Can we please talk?”  
  
“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”  
  
“Natasha, please don’t do this.”  
  
“I apologize if my behaviour isn’t satisfactory, sir.” I took a sip from my mug and tried to walk around him, but he held me back at the last moment. JJ was the only one facing us who was till awake, and her eyes quickly fluttered away.  
  
“I don’t want to be like this.”  
  
“You should be careful, sir, people might get the wrong impression.”  
  
He released me and I walked off, taking a chair in the corner and turning away from the rest of the plane. I didn’t want anyone to see the stupid tears running down my cheeks. JJ took the seat beside me. She stayed silent, only reaching out her hand and taking mine in hers. I squeezed back, thankful for her presence. As much as I hated it, he was the one who said we needed to back off. It was his choice. His decision.  
  
I was just following orders.


	29. Solitary Confinement

_"Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of overcoming it." – Helen Keller_

* * *

  
We were poised outside of 5657 Kallin Street, an hour’s drive from Quantico. Three hours ago we’d been at HQ, all of us filling out our share of paperwork from the case we’d just finished. JJ called us all into the conference room urgently where a very anxious Penelope relayed her story of how she was sent a link to a live stream of four women locked inside some sort of cell with the message “SAVE THEM.” She skipped the usual breakdown of victimology with the much more pressing fact: she’d tracked the IP address and had a location for the house where this was probably happening.  
  
Hotch wasted no time in getting us all ready, requesting a small police presence as the team prepared to meet in the parking lot. All of these little things—the message, the tracking, the address, the order—it all lead us here, to this porch. To one of the cops bashing in the door. To Rossi leading the way into the house. To my gun tracing familiar movements as I cleared rooms. We made it to the basement of the empty house, ears and eyes attentive for any sound of movement. We were short Derek and Emily, who stayed behind to work the rest of the case while we came to rescue the girls. We all figured that the quick location was just evidence of the unsub’s sloppiness and Penelope’s skills.  
  
It was too late by the time we realized the error in such dismissive thinking.  
  
In the basement of the house there was a door which opened easily enough: but it led to nothing. Or rather, no one. It was the exact same room we’d seen on the footage, but as Hotch, Spencer, JJ, Rossi, four cops and I piled into the room we could see that it was lacking one very important thing—the girls we were here to rescue. Looking around the room for some explanation as to what was going on, it was one of the cops who noticed it first; the sound of the door closing behind us. Locking us in. My heart sank as I stared at the metal rectangle and understood this was the plan from the start.  
  
Immediately I took out my phone as the cops tried to pull the door open. It wouldn’t budge and there was no cell phone reception. We were stuck. I pulled Spencer to my side as I scanned the room. There were no windows and two dim lights at either end of the room. There were odd tracks laid out around the room that I couldn’t place.  
  
“What do we do?” One of the cops, a young one, asked in a panicked voice.  
  
“We stay calm and figure a way to get out.” Rossi said as he walked the perimeter of the room, hand trailing the walls. I tried not to think about the fact that with the amount of time it took to get here and how long it would have taken if we actually found the mystery girls—not to mention the fake footage Penelope was no doubt analyzing—it would be hours before the others even considered the possibility that something went wrong.  
  
We were alone.  
  
“You don’t think this is a gas chamber, do you?” JJ asked wide eyed, a hint of claustrophobia showing itself. Her remark didn’t help me stay calm, but it made Spencer even worse.  
  
“I think this unsub has to have something more impressive than gassing us planned if he went through all of this work to get us here.”  
  
“Try to find something, anything really that might give us a way out.” Spencer said to the cops who had grouped up by now.  
  
“Reid, take a look at this.” Hotch was at the far end of the room, hunched over some scribbling on the wall. Spencer crossed over to it, tracing the lines with his fingers as he muttered. Hotch turned to two of the officers and asked to use their flashlights. They reluctantly left their group, but obliged nonetheless.  
  
I should have known from the start that things were never going to be so easy. Before the others even had a chance to turn on the flashlights, there was a horribly loud crashing noise, followed by something even more terrifying. A great metal barrier came sliding out from the left wall, expanding at an alarming pace. We barely had time to process what was happening, my feet only taking me half the distance to the shrinking gap, before it slammed into the right wall and permanently cut us off.  
  
There was a panic that rose within me, blossoming into a wildfire and spreading through my entire body as I screamed for Spencer. My hands flew up, slamming against the dull metal over and over. Some stupid part of me hoped that the sheer force of my punches could destroy it; but it was this wall that destroyed me. I could hear some kind of voice, a drab muffled sound trying to worm its way through the heavy substance, but to no avail.  
  
David grabbed my shoulder, trying to pull me away from the barrier and calm me down. A million disastrous thoughts were flying through my head as I obeyed and took a step away, lingering close but no longer staring at the immovable object. Anything could be happening to them on the other side of that wall. They could be gassed. The unsub might be in there with them right now. But there were four people in there; surely they could overcome one person? Unless there was more than one unsub. There could be five, ten unsubs.  
  
Or maybe there were spikes coming out of the floor on their side as well. I heard the noise before I felt the pressure, a hissing noise and then the sound of metal scraping against something. A scream escaped me as I half-stumbled forward, one foot held back. David supported me as I shook, struggling not to scream even louder. All along the floor surrounding the barrier were three neat rows of metal spikes, each three inches in height. Two of them had pushed through the soles of my shoes and into my foot. JJ was on her feet, eyes wide at the sight, rushing over to my side as David said something—I was too deep in the pain to bother paying attention. I couldn’t lift my foot out, could barely handle having it attached to my nervous system at all. My foot was stuck.  
  
“JJ, her shoe.” I came back to reality, realizing only now how much my nails were digging into David’s shoulder as he dictated orders to JJ. She knelt, hands shaking slightly as she worked at the laces of my shoe. “Tasha, I need you to listen to me, okay?” David said calmly as I nodded. “I’m going to try and lift your foot out, but it’s going to hurt. Tell me when you’re ready.”  
  
“Just do it.” I said through gritted teeth. David motioned to one of the cops who took his place as my crutch. The cop, Coleman, supported me and kept saying words of encouragement as David got down and, using Coleman’s flashlight, surveyed the injury. JJ backed away as David counted down from three.  
  
When he got to one I took in a huge breath, holding it in my lungs as he began to slide my foot from my shoe. The pain shot through my body like an electric shock, ricocheting off of every possible nerve ending I had; it was like all of the pain receptors had congregated at the precise points where the spikes were, and as they were removed bit by bit from my skin the spikes hit every single one. I was sobbing, my good leg threatening to give way. Each second, it felt like an infinitesimal eternity. When I felt the cool air rushing against my bloodied foot I knew I was free. The breath rushed from my lungs and I clutched onto Coleman’s vest tightly, knowing at any moment I could fall over. Coleman and David helped me over to a corner of the room and made me sit.  
  
My thoughts switched rapidly from my foot to Spencer and back and then to Hotch and back. JJ was helping me keep my foot elevated, trying to evade the blood gushing from the wound, as David worked at ripping part of his shirt into a makeshift bandage. He wound it tightly around the wound and tied it, instructing me to keep it off the ground as much as I could. JJ sat beside me and took my hand in hers—it was only now that I realized my hands were bloody from all the pounding on the metal. In a matter of minutes I’d managed to get myself enough injuries for the lot of us.  
  
JJ was quiet, far quieter than I was used to. I saw in her face an alarming amount of fear that she was trying to keep under wraps. Everyone she loved: Will and Henry, they were locked away from her where she couldn’t reach them. I could only imagine having a child and not knowing if I would ever see him again.  
  
“We’ll get you back to them.” I said quietly. She heaved out a shaky sigh and rested her head against mine. David was using the flashlight to survey the rest of the room in detail, no doubt looking for any other places where something might find its way into the room—or our bodies. When he seemed satisfied he crossed to the door, commencing an exhaustive study of ever last inch of it.  
  
Over the next couple of hours the pain in my foot became a steady, reliable feeling: and so gradually it drifted further and further from the front of my mind. I began to worry more and more about the others, and the panicked thoughts from before were resurfacing. All that I knew was that I needed to find a way to communicate with them. Our phones had no service. There was no way to hear any voices clearly through the wall. If there was only some way to send a signal of some sort, then we might be able to use it…No light would penetrate the wall, and we had nothing by way of making a loud enough sound…And then it hit me. There was one thing that Spencer and I had perfected in our childhood: a means to communicate with each other when something needed saying and one or more of our parents, usually in the room, weren’t supposed to hear it.  
  
“Morse code!” I breathed, struggling to get to my feet.  
  
“What?” JJ asked from beside me, getting up in sync with me. She helped me as I hopped over to the wall, careful to stay back from the spikes. Kneeling down in front of the barrier, I brought up the code in my mind and placed one hand on the floor to steady myself as I leaned forward and tapped out a simple starter with the palm of my hand.  
  
…/---/…  
S O S  
  
It wasn’t anything specific, just a general phrase to signal the start of communication. I held my breath, waiting for some kind of response. It was contingent on Spencer being conscious, near enough to the wall to hear it, and able to comprehend what I was doing (as well as remember the code himself). A minute went by and I repeated the signal, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut as the possibility that something had happened began to swirl in the back of my mind.  
  
-.-./---/.--./-.--  
C O P Y  
  
“Is that Spencer?” David asked behind me as I sighed in relief.  
  
“He taught me the code when we were kids.”  
  
.-/.-./. | -.--/---/..- | …./..-/.-./-  
ARE Y O U H U R T  
  
.-/.-../.-.. | …/.-/..-./. | -./--- | .--/.-/-.-- | ---/..-/-  
A L L S A F E N O W A Y O U T  
  
-.-./---/.--./-.--  
C O P Y  
  
“They’re all safe, but they’re just as stuck as we are.” I reported, sitting down fully and resting my foot on my left knee.  
  
.--/…./--- | …/-.-./.-././.-/--/./-..  
W H O S C R E A M E D  
  
I hesitated before responding, trying to determine whether or not it would be a good idea to reply. “What did he say?” JJ asked. I rationalized that if I lied and said it was JJ they would be just as worried, so it wouldn’t hurt to be honest.  
  
\--/.  
M E  
  
“He asked which one of us screamed.” I explained, massaging my temples in an attempt to ward off the approaching headache. Looking around the room, I had a hard time believing that just a few hours ago I was complaining about how hard it was to block the light out of my bedroom window. We’d only been in here a few hours and already I longed for the sun, missed the fresh air.  
  
The problem was the longer we were in there, the more likely someone was to get hurt. But there was literally nothing more we could do to try and escape. We were one-hundred percent dependent on Derek, Emily, and Penelope piecing together that we were gone too long and not answering our phones and in very grave danger. If they took too long to realize it…  
  
Spencer was tapping something out on the wall again and I borrowed Rossi’s pen and notepad to jot down the message. He told me there was a code scratched into the wall: 10, 3, D, 2, 8, G, 6, 4, B. Codes were easy enough to break if you knew the pattern or the key—if you didn’t have that, it was almost impossible. This, unfortunately, was one of those cases. I told Spencer to keep thinking as I poured over the number-letter sequence. No matter how I looked at it, no matter how many different keys I tried, nothing fit.  
  
When my watch beeped for the fifth time, signalling our fifth hour locked in this place, my hopes began to drop to a new low. The codes meant nothing. There was no way out. There was no food or water or washroom. Since the spikes, there hadn’t been much activity in the torture department—a dripping noise was sounding from somewhere that was driving us all insane, but that was it—so it pretty much looked like the primary motive here was psychological torture. The unsub wanted to drive us insane _before_ we starved to death.  
  
I kept thinking about my boys stuck on the other side, my Spencer tucked out of my reach, out of my sight. It was a stupid thing but my mind kept courteously showing me new things that could be happening to him over there. When I wasn’t thinking about that I was feeling guilty about Hotch. I’d been unnecessarily cold lately despite his efforts to smooth things over; why was I being stubborn? The knot in my stomach grew as I considered the possibility that I’d never get the chance to apologize; I’d never be able to hold him or kiss him or tell him how I felt. This renewed the sense of panic within me and I _needed_ to get through the wall. I didn’t much care about dying in here—so long as it was with him.  
  
There was a series of bangs on the door and five heads swivelled to look at it. A voice was trying to find its way through from the other side. JJ went close despite David’s protests, listening close and announcing it was Derek. She began to scream back, letting him know we were okay. She pressed her ear to the door and translated the muffles for us, relaying his instructions for us to back away from the door.  
  
I limped over to the wall once more, sending the SOS signal so Spencer knew to pay attention. When he told me he was there I set to work at giving the news that Derek was there with backup and he was breaking down the door. Spencer gave me the okay and, I assumed, told the others. I stood by the wall, my heart rate picking up at the thought of all of us escaping.  
  
The minutes passed, the room full of an incessant buzzing noise as those on the outside tried to break through with some kind of machine. There was a zapping sound and the lights in the room went out. In the silence we were all-too aware that our saviours on the other side of the door were no longer trying to break us out. JJ and I exchanged a look right before something began to fall from the ceiling. It was a mist-like substance being shot out of the place where the lights were connected to the ceiling. David instructed us all to cover our mouths and noses, but my thoughts flew to the others trapped on the other side of the wall. They had no way out.  
  
Without warning the door opened, blinding us all with light, as Derek and Emily began to rush in. David stopped them and they caught sight of the gas, immediately covering up their airways. Everyone made their way out, but I stayed put.  
  
“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Derek said urgently, trying to sling my arm around his shoulder. I stepped away from him shaking my head.  
  
“I can’t leave them!” I cried, coughing horribly as I inhaled.  
  
“Natasha!” He argued. I looked frantically from the open door to the wall, trying to figure out some way, _any_ way to help.  
  
“How did you open the door?” I forced out. He motioned to the room we first came through and I let him help me out there so we would go faster. My heart was racing as he led me to a part of the room that had been concealed when we first came in. Inside it was a single table with a multitude of identical unlabeled buttons, sitting at the foot of a range of screens. One of them, the foggiest, had four bodies on screen. I scanned the buttons, forcing myself to make a connection. Then I remembered what Spencer told me was on the wall. 10, 3, D, 2, 8, G, 6, 4, B. Not a code: instructions. A manual. “Morgan what button did you hit?”  
  
“We found the unsub in here and he hit one of these.” He was so much better than I was at concealing the panic in his voice. He had motioned to a general area and I counted 10 buttons over and 3 buttons down. D for Door. I figured G meant Gas, so I immediately found the corresponding button and hit it again, not pausing to see if it worked before rushing to hit the last one. B for Barrier. All was silent for an excruciating moment and then the barrier began to slide back into the wall.  
  
Ignoring the pain in my foot that came with each step, I raced back out into the main room and watched as the others began to file out. As rude as it was, I didn’t care about the officers who came out coughing first. I was only content when Spencer appeared in the doorway, Hotch following close behind him. I limped over and threw my arms around Spencer, holding him in a death grip as I refused to let myself cry.  
  
“You’re okay?” I choked out, pulling away and inspecting him for any signs of injury. “Nothing happened, you’re fine?”  
  
“I’m fine, Tash.” He said. David was talking to Derek, Emily tending to a shaken JJ. When I was satisfied that there was nothing Spencer needed from me I turned to Hotch, trying not to wince with each step I took towards him. He met me halfway, not objecting as I embraced him as well. It was a sensation I had so often taken for granted: the feeling of his arms around me. It didn’t matter that we’d escaped, it didn’t matter that we were safe; because some part of me still felt like I was at risk of losing him.  
  
“We need to clear out.” David announced. No one needed to be told twice, and we fell into line and began to file up the stairs. Hotch tried to help me walk but I insisted I would be fine, taking slow steps and doing my best not to show how much pain I was in. Hotch sighed behind me and, without warning, managed to scoop me up and began to carry me up the stairs.  
  
“I can walk!” I protested weakly, knowing full well that it would be hell to go up a flight of stairs and walk all the way to the no doubt awaiting ambulance. He ignored me completely, only focusing on getting us out of the building.  
  
“Why are you always the one getting hurt?” He asked quietly once we were safely outside. There was a host of medics around and everyone who’d been inside the room was being checked, but the gas seemed to have no long-term effects.  
  
“Because I’m stupid enough to think I can actually protect the people I love.” He set me down inside a free ambulance and the paramedic began to inspect me. My eyes wandered around the scene, taking in the sight of everyone safe, but resting on an unfamiliar face in the back of one of the police cruisers. The unsub. He looked furious that his plan had failed, but I hoped to sleep at least somewhat easy knowing he was behind bars.  
  
But, of course, nothing ever goes as planned.


	30. Haunted

_"Ideologies separate us. Dreams and anguish bring us together." - Eugene Ionesco_

* * *

  
It’s amazing what the human body can endure. You spend your whole life believing these facts that doctors and scientists have proven: how long you can live without water, how many days the cancer leaves you with, the amount of strength a certain individual can have. But it’s like every day you hear about some tourist who got lost in some part of the world and survived 160 days with little water, or people given 6 months to live and still being alive 5 years later, or a mother finding the strength to lift a car off her kid’s legs.  
  
If you’re lucky, enough dedication can make you the exception to every rule. The key is to have a purpose, to have determination: like seeing someone again or being there on your son’s graduation day or saving a life. Or not seeing the same horrific image every time you shut your eyes. Anyone can survive long enough if they’ve got a good reason.  
  
I hadn’t slept in three days. Maybe an hour here or there, but nowhere close to normal. Coffee had become my saviour; my intake having at least tripled. My foot still hurt something fierce, twelve stitches and a bottle of Tylenol later. The thing about nightmares is that usually they go away. Maybe one night or even two, but they leave you; either that or they’re interspersed with other dreams, or just pure sleep. Or at least, this is what we tell ourselves. The thing is, we never really get over nightmares. They never really leave us.  
  
No matter where I was trying to sleep, no matter how tired I was or how many lights I left on or how much calm music I’d listened to moments before, I could never stay asleep long enough. Or rather, I would never let myself go back to sleep after I woke up. Every time I closed my eyes, the same image crept up. The same nightmare, plaguing my subconscious mind, was incrementally turning me into a zombie.  
  
You reach a certain point in sleeplessness when everything begins to warp. Every shadow moves like a monster, lights are too bright, darkness too whole; the walls expand and contract like lungs, but only when you’re not looking right at them. Everything feels like a rerun; an obtuse routine. But I took comfort in the knowledge that no matter how weird things seemed, this was reality and all would eventually revert back to normal. I could escape from reality. You cannot outrun a nightmare.  
  
There was no doubt in my mind that my questionable state had been noticed. I’d lucked out in the absence of a case, but I knew it would only last so long. The team kept telling me I was working too late, coming in too early, and I was content to let them think that I actually went home for anything more than a shower. It was much easier to just live out of my go bag. There was always a free conference room somewhere in the building, so when the time became unacceptable for anyone save the janitors to still be there I would just take refuge there, making occasional trips to the kitchens to grab a coffee and a muffin or something. However, it was harder to hide from Hotch. He stayed abnormally late himself, so I had to time things right so he wouldn’t know he wasn’t the only one living at the office. The upside was I got a significant amount of work done. Despite the intermittent lolls of my head onto the surface of a report, I had increased my productivity at least 60%.  
  
Who needs sleep when you’ve got caffeine and sugar and crime scene photos?  
  
With a final pen stroke I closed the report, tossing it into the mountain of folders now overflowing my OUT box. The IN box was officially empty, which meant I had nothing left to do. No more excuses for being in the office. No reason not to be at home. I looked around aimlessly, tapping my pen on the desktop as I searched for something, anything to do. I rubbed my eyes hard, trying to force the sleep out of them, but decided another coffee would work better. Stretching out my limbs only reminded me how exhausted I was, but I just kept telling myself that caffeine was a band-aid for any bodily aches or drowsiness.  
  
I spooned in an extra serving of sugar just for good measure, taking a big drink and resting my head against the cupboards. It was beautifully quiet, here. No phones were ringing at whatever hour it was. No incessant keyboard noises or mouse clicks or loud voices or vacuums. Just a few lone entities left in the building, scribbling away at last minute reports. For a moment, I believed in sleep. I could curl up on the floor right here, prop my head up on my sweater and have a real slumber; but I knew it was impossible.  
  
“Natasha?”  
  
I jerked around, trying to open my eyes wider but knowing that the leaden feeling keeping my eyes droopy couldn’t be snapped away. Hotch was eyeing me wearily, his jacket folded over his arm and a briefcase clenched in his right hand. I quickly downed the rest of my coffee, trying to wake myself up. With no team meetings and me not leaving the office, I’d barely seen him since the incident. I only took comfort in the knowledge that he was never far away for long. Usually just on the other side of his office door. But I missed him terribly, and the last thing I needed was for him to realize what I was forcing my body to do.  
  
“I just finished the Markham’s report; it’ll be on your desk soon.” I also couldn’t mask the croaky-tone my voice had acquired.  
  
“When was the last time you slept?” He asked, fully taking in my drained appearance and no doubt beginning to put two and two together. I shrugged, turning away and trying to make room in the dishwasher for my mug.  
  
“I’m still waiting on the autopsy to be faxed over and then I can add it to—”  
  
“It’s time to go home.” He interrupted, motioning for me to follow him. And all of the thoughts that plagued me before and after the cell, they flooded back to me. I had almost lost him to death, but now I was losing him to—what? The cell had erased all animosity between us, but it was like afterwards there just hadn’t been time to sort anything else out. I didn’t know where we stood, what we were doing, if he even wanted to be with me at all anymore.  
  
“I’ve—I’ve still got some work to do.” I lied. If there was one thing I knew I couldn’t handle at the moment, it was going home to an empty house and trying to face the nightmares on my own.  
  
“Natasha, it’s three in the morning, so it’s now Saturday. You’re off the clock.” At this I scrunched my eyebrows together, looking down at my watch. I knew it was early, but I had no idea we were already into the weekend. Even less reason for me to be avoiding my house. “You need to go home, that’s an order.”  
  
I hated when he pulled rank. I had no choice but to obey, begrudgingly going to my desk and gathering my things before following him into the parking lot. I meant to get into my car but he insisted I wasn’t fit to drive and coerced me into the passenger’s seat of his vehicle. I managed some joke about a breathalyzer test. My head found comfort against the cold window as I pulled my sweater tightly around my body. It wasn’t until we’d been driving for a while that I realized we’d passed the turn for my place. When I brought it up he simply stated that we weren’t going there. He was taking the route to his house.  
  
I could have protested, but my apartment was the last place I wanted to be. I just had to be sure not to sleep, because the nightmares always ended in me screaming. I managed for this long; another few hours couldn’t be too difficult. It was a routine walk up the driveway, through the door and up the stairs. I piled my things onto one of the night side tables; muttering a thanks when he tossed me a familiar set of his clothing. The first time I’d worn them, he’d just prevented me from being kidnapped. It felt so far away. This time I settled on just the shirt, peeling off the rest of my clothing before slipping it over my head.  
  
From my bag I pulled out a book, climbing onto the bed and settling in as I flipped to the bookmarked page and turned on the lamp. He peeled back the covers and got in beside me after turning out the lights. I could feel him watching me, but I knew what he was going to ask and I didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding stupid.  
  
“Tash, how long has it been?” He asked quietly, in that same calm voice that could coerce the devil to pray. He was the voice you wanted to hear in the middle of an emergency promising everything would be alright. He was the pre-recorded message you wanted to alert you to exit the building in an orderly fashion. He belonged behind every microphone and police hotline and instruction tape and audiobook.  
  
“A while.” Why was it so hard to lie to him?  
  
“What’s been keeping you up?” He lay propped up on his pillow, arms resting on his stomach as he surveyed me. I sighed, putting the book away and staring at my thumbs. I figured, he’d already seen me at my most bruised and bloody, my most teary-eyed; what more would he have left to be scared off by?  
  
“Ever since the whole…cell thing, I’ve been having nightmares again.” I forced out.  
  
“Every night?”  
  
“Not exactly…” It only took a moment for it to sink in, and he sat up.  
  
“You haven’t gone home at all, have you?” My silence might as well have been a confession. He sighed, tilting my head up so I was looking at him. “It’s over, Natasha. We all made it out, we’re safe.”  
  
“You don’t understand…” I began.  
  
“Then help me.” He pushed, waiting patiently as I summoned the courage.  
  
“Every….every time I fall asleep I see the same thing…Just that wall closing and you and Spence on the other side. But in the dream Ares is there with me, and I can’t save either of you. I can’t get to you. And you can’t get to me.”  
  
The tears were coming on full-force, and even as he took me into his arms there was no stopping them. Because they weren’t just because of the nightmare, they were for everything. For the fights and the worry and the distance and the loneliness and the exhaustion and the job and all things in between. He let me cry until there was nothing left to expunge; and then he lay me down beside him, his chest pressed to my back, and wrapped an arm around my middle. He placed a kiss on my neck and promised me he wasn’t going anywhere, that he would be here when I needed him. All I could do was curl up close, melting into him as much as I could, and gripping his hand tightly.  
  
Despite his words I wanted to stay awake; I didn’t want to go back to that god-awful room for even a second. But sleep was hammering my system, and it was impossible to resist it any more. How could I resist sleep when I had such warmth, comfort and safety? It was a fruitless task…Sleep would be so sweet…  
  


* * *

  
  
There was a deep rooted fear within me propelling my heart into a frenzy as I sprung up screaming. Aaron was beside me immediately as a tremble took over my body. There was a cold sweat on my forehead that I feverishly tried to wipe away as he rushed to calm me down. It was just a dream, he promised, it wasn’t real.  
  
I tried to explain to him that it had been different this time; that I had realized I was in a dream but couldn’t escape, although I couldn’t tell how much of what I was saying was coherent. All I knew was that it was much easier for me to lay back down when his arms were around me, when his hands held mine, when his lips met my forehead. He stayed awake until I slipped from consciousness once more, but this time there was no nightmare. No fabricated prison made in the image of reality. No macabre horrors awaiting my return, hiding in the depths of my slumber.  
  
And for what felt like the first time in years, I slept. A real, true sleep that did what slumber was meant to. It renewed me and left me with the most pleasant feeling. When I awoke the next morning it lingered in my system like a fresh dream, or the gentle spread of a cool drink on a hot summer’s day. The sun was beating in through the windows and warming the sheets—and, by extension, my body—as it cast its brightness around the room. A brightness that no nightmare could overthrow.  
  
Turning in the bed I found it was empty. It made me nervous at first, but I stifled the negative emotions and enjoyed the luxury of waking up slowly. I remembered waking up in the night but not again after that. My eyes caught the time on the clock and grew wide. I’d managed to sleep in ‘til 1:15—a feat I hadn’t pulled off since my adolescence. Pushing myself up, I knew it would be ridiculous to stay in bed any longer. I tugged the bottom of the borrowed shirt down so that it covered me properly as I strung my hair up in a ponytail. For a moment my hand dragged across the mark on my neck, the sharpness fading with each passing day.  
  
The house was quiet, quiet like the breath between words. My fingers trailed along the varnished grain of the wooden banister as I made my way downstairs, each room in this house serving as a timeline for how far I’d come in a short time. The living room where I contemplated my almost-kidnapping. The kitchen where I made pancakes with Jack, and later his bedroom where I tucked him in. Hotch’s bedroom, where he saved me from my own mind. My knight in a black suit and shiny badge.  
  
Hotch was sitting at the kitchen table with his back to me, working as he always was. My feet were silent on the carpeted floor and made only quiet pat-pats when the floor changed to tile. I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, mumbling a good morning. He laughed, the action vibrating into me.  
  
“I think you mean good afternoon.” He teased. I groaned but turned his head to meet our lips before closing the case file.  
  
“It’s the weekend, you’re officially off the clock.” I teased right back, keeping a firm hold on him and resting my head against his.  
  
“Well if someone was up earlier I might have been doing something else.”  
  
“Sure you would, Bossman.” As if he did anything other than paperwork. I straightened up, stretching properly and going to make myself a coffee. “We should do something fun next weekend.”  
  
“Fun?”  
  
“Oh right,” I turned, empty mug in hand as I gave him a sad look. “I forgot, you don’t know what that word means.”  
  
“Thanks.” He said sarcastically as I poured the coffee in, a dark contrast to the white mug. “What did you have in mind?”  
  
“I don’t know…maybe a barbeque or something. We could invite the team and maybe…” I trailed off, unsure as to whether or not I wanted to open up that topic for discussion.  
  
“What?” He asked, tearing his focus away from the papers and giving it to me. I mixed in a teaspoon of cream, the spoon clanging against the sides of the mug as I tried to force the words out of my mouth. When my back was to him I measured out the sugar and managed to speak.  
  
“Maybe you could bring Jack and...your brother and Jessica. I mean, if you want.” I rushed the last part, losing confidence in what I was asking with every word I said. “I get it if you don’t want to or if it would be weird or uncomfortable or—”  
  
“Natasha.” He cut me off, standing as I took a moment before turning to face him. “I think it’d be nice.”  
  
“Really?” I did a horrible job at containing my surprise as he smiled and came up to me, hands resting on my waist. He nodded before bringing his lips to mine and I tried to fight back the stupid smile on my face. “I guess I’ll call the team and start planning.”  
  
“You know,” He began as I walked away, catching hold of my free hand before I could get too far away. “We can talk about things like that. It’s not off limits.”  
  
“Duly noted.” I smiled, squeezing his hand before releasing it. Neither of us had to explicitly say Hailey’s name to know what we were referring to. We hadn’t ever touched that subject, but I knew that sooner or later the topic would come up. It was just nice to know that when it did, it would be okay.


	31. Soiree

_"Other things may change us, but we start and end with family." – Anthony Brandt_

* * *

  
  
“We have to get up.” Hotch’s arm wrapped around my middle as I groaned. My face was pressed against the pillow, muffling my pleas for five more minutes of peace. I felt his laugh against my back as he brushed my hair back from my face. “This party was your idea”  
  
“I just wish we’d made it later.” I whined. He kissed my neck, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against my skin. I groaned, turning in his grasp so that my head lay on his chest. “You need to shave.”  
  
“I didn’t know you were in charge of my facial hair.” He teased, tracing a design on my exposed shoulder. I cocked an eyebrow before propping myself up on his chest. He could tell, just from the look, that I was about to make him regret that comment.  
  
“From an anthropological point of view, there were three main reasons why more primitive Homo sapien males grew beards. One: for warmth, and as it is summer in Virginia you can’t play that card. Two: to appear more intimidating to potential enemies. You’re an FBI agent who carries three guns and can shut someone up just by looking at them, so I think you’re set in that department. And three, to attract mates. Seeing as you have a willing female lying naked in your bed and who does not approve of polygamous affairs, you have no reason to grow a beard.”  
  
“Thanks, Reid.” It was a running joke that whenever I got too technical or scientific he addressed me as he addressed Spencer. Smirking, I bent down and kissed him before finally getting out of bed and into the shower.  
  
For a moment I panicked because I thought I’d forgotten my dress back at my apartment, but I found it between some of his suits when I got out. I put on my bathing suit first so that when I wanted to go swimming I didn’t have to come in and change. I’d had the same suit for years for lack of needing a new one. It was a black one piece that covered me well and even had a skirt attached to minimize the skin I had to show. The dress was a simple one: flowy, sleeveless, white top with green skirt that reached my shins. I threw my hair up into a ponytail allowing it to dry naturally. There was no reason to fuss about looking pretty today.  
  
I left Aaron to get ready and went downstairs to start prepping all of the food. The ground beef was ready to be made in to burgers, so I began to cut up the onions that I’d put in them. Pulling out a container, I cut off a few sections of parchment paper to separate the layers of burgers; then came the fun part. I mushed all of the ingredients together with my hands and rounded them out to make perfect burgers. When I was half done he finally came downstairs.  
  
“Babe can you fix my hair?” I called out as he passed me on the way to the backyard. He laughed as I held up my meat-covered hands as an explanation for my inability to do it myself. He tucked my hair behind my ears and gave me a look.  
  
“Babe?” He questioned.  
  
“What, is Hotch the only acceptable nickname? And I have to share it with the whole team?” He shook his head, kissing me before going outside.  
  
When I was done with the hamburgers we worked together to get the rest of the house ready for the mob of people that would be coming. He set up a cooler outside under the shade of the umbrella that we filled with ice and a variety of drinks. In light of all the cobwebs I saw when opening the shed, I put him on chair-retrieval duty (as well as made him promise to check every single one for lurking creepy crawlers) while I set up the tables. Afterwards we went around the perimeter of the property and stuck tiki torches in the ground that we could light later in the night.  
  
By half-past noon we had everything ready to go. All we were missing were the people. The closer it drew to the start time of 1the more I began to panic. Why on earth had I thought it would be a good idea to meet Jessica? She was probably the last person who wanted to see me, considering who I was. The thought began to wear a hole in my mind and I sat on one of the lawn chairs picking at the skin around my nails.  
  
“What’s up?” He sat down beside me, surveying the backyard. I shook my head but he knew me too well to accept that as truth. “What is it?”  
  
“Just…Wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.” I sighed. “What the hell is she supposed to think of me?”  
  
“Don’t think like that.” He said. “I talked to Jess about it when I called her to see where she stood with this, and she’s not that kind of person. She’s just looking forward to meeting who Jack is always asking to see.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Really.” He promised. This put me at ease and I decided that I had to calm down and pretend like she was just another family member of Aaron’s. To busy myself I went inside and got some snacks to set out on the table for people to have until we were ready to have dinner. Just as I went inside the doorbell rang, my heart racing as I went to open the door.  
  
“Am I too early?” Spencer asked as he stepped in. “I never quite understood what the exact waiting period to be ‘fashionably late’ was so I figured that arriving on time wouldn’t hurt, unless of course the hosts were running behind in their setting up of all of the—”  
  
“Spencer!” I called out to make him stop. “It’s fine, you’re right on time.”  
  
“Oh…good!” He said with surprise as he followed me to the kitchen. I loaded some things into his hands so he could help me carry them out as the bell rang again. Hotch went by, greeting Spencer in the process and promising he had the door covered. I led Spencer to the backyard and instructed him on where to put the food.  
  
“There’s my T-Bird!” Derek called, clutching a 24 pack in one hand. Emily was behind him, hands holding up a cake box. I told them where to put the stuff before embracing them.  
  
“Thanks for coming, you guys.”  
  
“I think we all needed a bit of a break.” Emily smiled as Derek went over to greet Spencer—which, of course, meant rough housing. Hotch walked by the two of us to the cd player where he began to shuffle through the CDs I’d laid out.  
  
“I know it’s your favourite, but we are _not_ listening to the Beatles’ White Album.” I called out as he turned to me, confusion on his face.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Hotch, it’s the worst one.” I laughed as he shook his head, picking some other Beatles CD to put on.  
  
“I’m almost offended by that.” He said before escaping back into the house at the sound of the doorbell. Penelope and Kevin showed up next, clutching a bag full of a projector and cables and a container of potato salad. They had barely even set them down before JJ walked in with Will and Henry by her side. I had only met Will the one time the whole team went out for dinner, but Henry I’d never met. He was four years old and very shy, turning his face into JJ’s leg when I tried to say hello.  
  
“He’s a little cranky right now, he just woke up from a nap.” Will explained, trying to pry him off her leg.  
  
“Well come on in, make yourselves comfortable.” I left them to socialize with the others and went inside to find David already here, setting up shop in the kitchen.  
  
“Hey kiddo.” He said, setting down a container of tomatoes. He pulled the dishtowel off his shoulder and dried his freshly washed hands. I went up and gave him a hug, helping him find the pots and pans he needed.  
  
“What are you making?”  
  
“Family recipe. Best spaghetti you’ll ever have; it’s got to be made the day of, though.”  
  
“Need any help?” I asked, leaning against the counter. He slid the knife and cutting board towards me and started filling a pot with water. “Start dicing.”  
  
With a nod I set to work, cutting off the tops and dicing up the tomatoes. In a pan he was busy caramelizing some onions and garlic, narrating his actions all the while as if it was a cooking show. I shot Hotch a look as he walked by and he laughed at what I’d gotten myself into.  
  
“Alright, put those into that pot and I’ll show you how to properly chop basil.” He instructed. The doorbell rang just as I set the cutting board back down, and my heart began to race.  
  
“N’Tasha!” Jack called out, his little feet stomping on the floor as he ran over to me. I crouched down and opened my arms to catch him.  
  
“Hey Superman!” I got a good hold on him and stood up so he could see what we were making. “Do you want to have the best spaghetti in the world?”  
  
“With meatballs?” He asked. I shrugged, turning to Dave for an answer. He stopped stirring for a moment and faced Jack.  
  
“Remember this: it’s not _real_ spaghetti if there’s no meatballs.” He tapped Jack on the nose and went back to cooking as I set the boy down.  
  
“And you must be the girl Aaron doesn’t shut up about.” Hotch’s brother was the opposite of what I’d expected. He had long shaggy hair that had been dyed blonde (although the roots were coming in) and a beard. Compared to Aaron’s suit and tie, strict look, Sean was a surfboard-loving hippie.  
  
“And you must be Sean.” I smiled as he came up and hugged me. “The master chef.”  
  
“The less up-tight, more attractive brother. That’s me.” He turned and winked at Hotch.  
  
“Well, that’s debatable.” I teased as he went over to greet Rossi. At last, the moment had come. The woman standing with Hotch had short blonde hair and a pie in either hand that she was passing over to him as I approached. Praying for the best I smiled at her. “And you must be Jessica.”  
  
“Natasha, it’s great to finally meet you!” She embraced me, catching me off guard but in the most pleasant way. “Do you need any more help setting up?”  
  
“Um,” I looked behind me at Sean taking my place as Rossi’s sous chef and at the group in the backyard. “I think we’ve got everything under control. Let’s go out back.”  
  
“So how long have you been working at the BAU now?”  
  
“God, it’s been…six months now?”  
  
“And you’re liking it there?”  
  
“It’s definitely not what I expected. It can be really draining but when we get things right and someone is brought home safe, it makes up for everything. That, and I get to keep an eye on Spence.”  
  
“You’re cousins, right?” I nodded. “That must’ve made the transition a lot easier.”  
  
“Absolutely. I lucked out though because I worked with Derek in Chicago as well so I wasn’t alone in being a cop-turned-behaviour analyst.”  
  
“I don’t know how you do this every day.” She laughed, grabbing a drink as we watched Jack playing with Henry.  
  
“Some days, neither do I.”  
  
“Tasha,” Rossi called out, walking by me. “No one is to touch the stove or its contents.”  
  
“Yes sir.” I gave him a salute as he grabbed a beer and walked off. Emily and JJ greeted Jessica and started engaging her in conversation. I took a quick sweep of the yard to make sure everything was in order and everyone seemed relatively comfortable. An evil desire crept into me as I caught sight of Derek. I waited until Emily was finished talking before nudging her.  
  
“Em, look.” I shifted my eyes towards Derek. He was standing close to the edge of the pool talking to Rossi. She looked back at me with a wicked smile. “We can’t pass this up.”  
  
“I’ll trip, you push?” She proposed.  
  
Before heading over I grabbed a drink so that it would seem more natural. The two of them were discussing some case when I joined, positioning myself directly in front of Derek. Emily came up beside me, letting him get comfortable before slipping her foot behind his ankle. She gave the slightest nod of her head and I smirked, pushing against him with all of my might. He flailed for a few moments, the deepest instincts trying to keep him balanced, before he toppled into the pool. Emily and I were in stitches as he resurfaced, booming like an animal.  
  
“Dammit, woman!” He roared. I took the opportunity to pull off my dress, tossing it into an empty chair and jumping in myself. Derek was waiting for me when I resurfaced, grabbing hold of me and scolding me. “How the hell was that fair?”  
  
“It wasn’t supposed to be!” I thrashed about in his grasp before finally slipping free. He gave me a look that let me know he wasn’t done tormenting me, but paused to peel off the soaking wet shirt.  
  
“You’re damn lucky I didn’t have my phone on me T-Bird, or your species would’ve been extinct.”  
  
“Aww, what’s the matter, you’d lose all your girlfriends’ numbers?” I teased as he shook his head. “Em, Spence, come in!”  
  
“I—I think I’m good out here.” Spencer said, taking a step back from the pool as Emily stripped down and joined us.  
  
“Kid, don’t make me throw you in.” Derek threatened, which seemed to terrify Spencer more than just getting in himself. He heaved a sigh, setting down his drink and taking off his sandals before looming close to the pool stairs. He was playing with the edge of his shirt as if debating whether or not to keep it on.  
  
“Take it off!” Emily cheered, making him laugh nervously before obeying. He waded down the first two steps, arms crossed as if to cover himself.  
  
“It’s so cold.” He whined, squinting at us against the sun. There was a battle cry and I turned just in time to see Sean running full speed at the pool and jumping in. The resulting splash doused Spencer completely and made him squeal, which only gave Derek more ammunition against him.  
  
“Quit screaming and get in.” He demanded, wading over to Spencer. Derek was throwing fake punches at Spencer, whose arms kept going up in an attempt at defence against each new throw. “C’mon kid, where’s your training? Huh?”  
  
“I barely passed the physical requirements and they only let me in because I’m a genius!” He cried, edging away every chance he got. Derek laughed before tackling him, Spencer’s scream turning into a bubbly wail as he was pulled under water.  
  
Jack released a battle cry as he charged at the pool, tucking his legs in for a cannonball as he splashed into the water. He resurfaced and I snatched him up while JJ and Will got in with Henry. Jack got onto my shoulders as the group of us started messing around.  
  
“Daddy come play!” Jack called out, the request met with agreement from the rest of us. He turned to us all with a plate of raw meat in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other, smiling apologetically.  
  
“Dinner won’t make itself.” He shrugged as we booed him.  
  
“N’Tasha?” Jack tapped on my head. “Can we play Marco Polo?”  
  
Emily volunteered to be ‘it’ first, so she closed her eyes and counted to ten while we all moved around. Derek was the only one to move right up behind her, a tactic that would either make him the winner or the first to be caught. He made funny gestures behind her as she counted, sending the kids into a fit of laughter. Unluckily for him, Emily’s intuition was impeccable and he was tagged in the first three seconds. He begrudgingly went to the middle of the pool and covered his eyes, counting quickly as we all repositioned ourselves.  
  
Everyone except for Will (somehow a master at the art of Marco Polo) had been tagged at some point, and I could only imagine how annoyed any neighbours were with the constant soundtrack of _Marco…Polo Polo Polo!!!!_ When Spencer’s turn came around again, I thought up a plan. When he closed his eyes I motioned for everyone to follow my lead as we got out of the pool as quietly as possible. We all stood around the perimeter of the pool, holding back laughter as Spence wandered around the empty water. We still called out Polo in response, and occasionally someone would splash him to keep up the façade.  
  
“Something isn’t right.” He said after five straight minutes of wandering around an empty pool. “Judging from the area of the pool and the combined area of all seven of you, I should have at least caught someone by now. Can I open my eyes?”  
  
“No cheating, Reid!” Derek asserted but I punched him.  
  
“Go ahead, Spence.”  
  
Everyone laughed about it—except, of course, Spencer, who kept explaining the mathematics he’d used to deduce the truth—and got dried off just in time for dinner. It was very much a buffet-style sit down, with people sitting wherever they pleased. I crashed in the grass with Jack, Henry, JJ, and Spencer, pressing the napkins under my leg so the wind wouldn’t take them away.  
  
There was a surplus of food, so even after everyone ate to their heart’s content (including Derek, with a black hole of an appetite) there were plenty of leftovers. The only exception was the dessert, which had pretty much been devoured. The sun was almost gone for the day, casting an orange glow across the sky; filling up the space in between day and night.  
  
When the disposable plates had been tossed away and the food covered, the music was turned up and Jack came running up towards me. It was the Beatles, _Twist and Shout_ —and he wanted to dance. I set his feet on mine and took his hands, swaying around and singing along with him to the song. He laughed until he was red in the face and the song finally came to an end. Then he disappeared off to find his dad.  
  
Derek held out his hand to me when the next song started and I laughed, taking up the dancing position. JJ, Will, Penelope, and Kevin had joined us and Emily was currently in the process of coercing Spence off the sidelines. The smile slowly faded from my face as I thought about how perfect everything was.  
  
“Hey, what’s that frown for T-Bird?” He asked as I shrugged. We were a fair distance from the others but I lowered my voice anyways.  
  
“I don’t know…Everything is just kind of too good to be true, you know? I feel like any minute all of this is going to slip away.”  
  
“It will if you keep thinking that way, baby girl.” He scolded, evoking a smile out of me. “Don’t you go worrying about things that ain’t never gonna happen.”  
  
I nodded and he pressed his lips to my forehead. “You’re pretty great, Derek Morgan.”  
  
“Don’t you know it, Natasha Reid.”  
  
Sean came up and asked if he could cut in. Derek handed me over and Sean took his place as the song changed. We made small talk for a while, mostly about the party and the food and the kids. But I was good at my job; I knew there was something he was waiting to say.  
  
“You know,” he dropped his voice and cast a look at Aaron. “He hasn’t looked this happy in a really long time. You seem like a great girl, Natasha. I guess what I’m saying is I’m real glad you got the job.”  
  
“Believe me, that makes two of us.” I laughed lightly. “But thank you. It’s something I needed to hear.”  
  
He kissed my hand as we parted ways and I took a seat next to Spencer. I rested my head on his shoulder as he rambled on about a journal article he’d read concerning the latest development in astrophysics. It was odd how comforting a thing this was, Spencer’s avid rambling about intellectual things and numbers and statistics and references.  
  
I was pulled out of my thoughts by a sudden song change. A familiar tune and soothing voice found its way to me and I looked through the gaps between the people to find Hotch standing at the cd player. It was Frank Sinatra’s _The Way You Look Tonight_. One of my favourites. He came up to me and asked to borrow me from Spencer, who promised to fill me in later.  
  
The grin on my face couldn’t get away even if it tried. His hand took mine as the other wrapped around my waist. He held me close to him as we swayed in circles. If I was certain of anything, it was that in his arms was where I was meant to be. It was so overwhelmingly correct, all of it. I didn’t want the song to end, I didn’t want to ever have to let go. I just wanted his arms around me forever, my head laying on his shoulder. But as the tune faded and we pulled away he pressed his lips to mine.  
  
“Can we watch a movie now?” Jack called out, forcing the both of us to smile.  
  
Kevin had been kind enough to bring the projector which he began to set up while Derek and Sean were busy hanging a white sheet against the wall of the house. Emily and Jessica were helping me make up enough popcorn to sustain all fourteen of us. JJ and Penelope were laying out blankets and pillows all across the lawn for everyone when we came out. When everything was ready everyone began to group up and settle down.  
  
Henry and Jack were lying on their stomachs closest to the screen, hands propping up their heads and feet dangling absently in the air. When the DVD menu for The Karate Kid showed up on the sheet, Kevin handed the remote to me and took a seat beside Penelope, taking her hand as she and Emily conversed with David. Behind them, Will sat with his arm draped around JJ as Jessica told some story about when Jack was little. Sean was using his finger to draw something into the fabric of the sheet that made sense to Aaron in the context of their discussion. There was a seat saved for me between him and Spencer, who was busy arguing with Derek over the logical possibilities and physical restrictions of time travel in the show Doctor Who.  
  
I got comfortable in my saved seat, shushing everyone before hitting play. The popcorn bowls had been placed throughout the mass of us, causing a gentle _crunch crunch_ to be the background noise to the anti-piracy warning at the start of the movie. Spencer was still whispering about some study so I threw the remote at him. He smiled sheepishly before apologizing and turning his attention to the movie. Aaron’s arm found its way around my shoulder so I leaned against him. He brushed his lips against my forehead, making me smile.  
  
“You owe me a swim later, mister.” I said quietly. He laughed, the action vibrating through me and making me do the same.  
  
The longer the movie went on, the more tired Jack and Henry started to become. They lay flatter and flatter on the ground, and I could tell even without seeing them that their eyes were drooping. When 10 o’clock rolled around and the movie had thirty minutes left Henry retreated back to JJ and Will, seeking refuge in their arms. A few minutes later Jack did the same, curling up against me and trying to stay awake. I draped my arms around him as he began to twirl his hair, a sure sign of his imminent need for sleep.  
  
In the last five minutes of the movie Jack was completely out, and so I got up as quietly as possible with the child in my grasp and headed to tuck him in. Aaron opened the sliding door for me and followed upstairs to Jack’s room where he pulled back the covers. I laid the child down and began to pull up the covers but he woke for a moment, groaning.  
  
“Mommy can you sing me a lullaby?” He asked, freezing me to the spot. My eyes grew wide at the realization of what he had just said, and I turned to Hotch for some kind of guidance. I couldn’t exactly place the emotion on his face but he nodded me on so I knelt beside the bed.  
  
“I—uh—sure thing, buddy.” I sang him a quick lullaby and he fell back asleep, a sort of fear growing in my heart at the question of what exactly just happened. Hotch closed the door behind him and we went back downstairs to see people manifesting at the door.  
  
“He’s out cold.” Will said of the boy in his arms.  
  
“Thanks so much for having us though, it was great.” JJ smiled, the others following her while exchanging thanks and goodbyes of their own. I double checked with Kevin and Penelope that they’d gotten all of the equipment they’d brought. Rossi gave specific instructions on how to store and properly reheat the pasta he’d made before bidding us farewell. Jessica and Sean were the last to leave.  
  
“It was really nice meeting you, Natasha.” She said, embracing me.  
  
“But it’s a long drive back.” Sean said, hugging his brother before moving on to me.  
  
“Are you sure you guys don’t just want to stay the night?” I offered as they gathered their things.  
  
“I’m meeting up with some friends in Maryland on my way back to New York, and I’m dropping Jess on the way so it’s no big deal.”  
  
We exchanged a final set of goodbyes before standing in the doorway and watching as the last of the cars disappeared down the street. Locking the door we both sort of let out a sigh, almost in relief that we’d made it through a day with no calls or cases or mishaps. I noticed that there was a stack of folded blankets and pillows sitting on the couch in the living room, and it looked like the kitchen had been cleaned up as well. When I went into the backyard I was surprised to see that practically everything had been cleaned up—even the chairs were stacked. With nothing left to really clean and the peace of the night my eyes fell onto the pool.  
  
“Well, come on.” I said, casting a look back at Aaron.  
  
Pulling the dress up and off of me, I let it fall to the ground. My feet were silently flattening the grass with each step that I took, remaining quiet as the ground changed to stone. The water of the pool made gentle noises as my feet caused ripples the further I lowered them. Eventually I submerged myself entirely, my suit sticking to my skin as much as my wet hair. The tiki torches that we’d lit up around the lawn were still burning, casting a glow around the yard that artificial light just couldn’t make.  
  
He closed the sliding door behind him, peeling off his shirt before making his way over to me. While he got in I swam around a bit, going over to him and making him sit on the steps in the shallow end. I climbed onto his lap, the water dancing around my shoulders as I wound my arms around his neck. He placed his around my waist and looked at me, as if he knew that I needed to say something.  
  
“Are you…Are you okay with what happened with Jack?” I asked. He paused to think for a moment which only made me anxious. “Because you know that I’m not at all trying to replace her or anything like—”  
  
“I know that.” He nodded. “Jack’s old enough to understand that she’s not coming back, and I think he’s just looking for someone to…fill the void, almost. And you’re a perfect fit.”  
  
“But I—”  
  
“For both of us.” He interrupted, putting me at ease. I sighed and nodded, wrapping my arms tighter around him. He pressed his lips to mine before letting me move onto the stair beside him.  
  
“Today was a good day.” I mused as his arm wound around me and my head found his shoulder.  
  
“They come around every now and then.”


	32. Endgame

_"It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us." - Norman Maclean_

* * *

  
  
Tonight would be special.  
  
Everything was planned perfectly, my dress and jewelry and shoes laid out on the bed ready for me. Bit by bit I pieced myself together: silver floor-length dress with quarter length sleeves and a conservative neckline, pearl earrings and necklace, silver heels. My hair all wound up into a bun with a few strands dangling free—the appropriate attire for a nice restaurant and theatrical production. A one-in-a-million chance of overlapping free time and case-lessness that we treated as a date night.  
  
Into a clutch I packed the essentials—wallet, phone, and lipstick in the event I would need to reapply. The restaurant wasn’t far, probably a fifteen minute drive into town, and I was to meet him there. I wasn’t really one for spending more money than necessary on something like food, but it was nice as a treat every now and then. Especially when there wasn’t much free time in the first place. Emily was on the phone with me, teasing me as usual about my romantic relations with our boss. It’d become a bit of a running joke amongst the team, but I was okay with it. She was making some kind of joke when the house phone rang, but I promised her the machine would pick it up. I listened to my voice saying to leave a message and then the caller.  
  
“Tasha? My Natasha? It’s me. I made it out. I miss you. I just want to see you…one last time. I’m so sorry. I had to take him—I know you’d never come otherwise. He’s here with me. The Leader…The Boss… _Hotch_. Please, Tasha. I’m waiting where you caught me and there isn’t much time. I’m scared he’ll be back soon. Please. _Please._ ”  
  
For a moment I stood frozen, not wholly processing what it was I’d heard. But as the words played back in my mind I started to panic. Emily was calling to me, asking if I was alright. Asking who it was, what did they say, she couldn’t make out the words. But how could I explain it properly? All that came out of my mouth was a stutter of names. Deimos…Luke…Hotch.  
  
“Deimos escaped. He has Hotch.” The robotic message passed in a monotone voice as my feet lead the way to my gun. I relayed the address—the only place he could be talking about, where we seized him after the first phone call. “Bring everyone.”  
  
There was no time for anything, no time to put on sensible clothing or get a level head. All I knew was that Hotch was in danger and I was closest to the address, but more than that I was the one Deimos was asking for. Always a target. Only, this time I was prepared. My heels, so unfit for driving, slammed on the pedals as I weaved my way through the labyrinth of side streets that would free me of stop lights. I could not stop. Deimos was out. How did he get out? Did they not understand that he was incredibly unstable, unsafe, and probably had eyes set on my head? _Oh God_ , I thought to myself, _Spencer_.  
  
Immediately I called him, just to hear his voice and know he was safe. In the back of my mind I knew he was, and I knew Hotch was too. Hotch could survive better than Spence. He would make it. He had to. And from the sound of things, Deimos—Luke—whatever, he only took him to force my hand, to make me go to him. For bait. He didn’t want a body count. But this knowledge, this reason couldn`t quell the furious beating of my heart, the sweatiness of my palms, the knots in my stomach.  
  
I didn’t talk to Spencer for long because I was there soon, and although I wanted a moment to compose myself I refused that luxury and fled the car. The house looked the same as before, only this time the yellow crime scene tape dangled on the doorframe and around the ground where it’d been ripped away. The door creaked as I pushed it open, and I retraced the steps into the living room where he’d been before.  
  
Hotch was tied to a chair in the corner of the room, dressed to the nines in his suit and bowtie and suspenders. A silver accent in his front pocket and cufflinks to match my dress. Planned to the last detail. Tonight was supposed to be special. But not this kind of special. From the shadows, where he always hid, came the familiar face. This ghost I thought I’d banished: this remnant _yes_ on the Ouija board. His eyes pinned on me like darts on a board: fixed.  
  
“Athena…” He began, and I stood tall in my place. I was done with this name, I refused to show fear to this boy. But just as suddenly as he came at me with that anger in his eyes, he stopped. “No! No. Not Athena. Her name is Athe-NATASHA!”  
  
I exchanged a look with Hotch, giving him a quick once-over. For the most part he seemed fine, a few cuts on his face and what looked like a bruise forming. Probably a pistol whip. He nodded, which I took as a promise he was fine, and I returned my attention to the spiralling boy in front of me. As far as I could tell this was some sort of psychotic break, a clash of his personalities.  
  
“Who am I talking to?”  
  
“It’s me—the—the real me. Not the other ones…Tasha, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.” He crouched down, pressing his hands to his face—one of them clutching a gun—and wept for a few moments. “I told you to go away! It’s my turn to talk to her!”  
  
“If you have something more to say you’d better hurry up.” I said curtly. “The cops are on their way.”  
  
“I’m leaving soon.” He stood abruptly. “I just want you to forgive me.”  
  
“Okay, I forgive you. Now just put the gun down, okay?”  
  
“Liar!” He yelled with the anger of Deimos. He stood staring at me, chest heaving in and out. “Don’t just try and shut me up, Tash, I’m sick of that!”  
  
“Well what the hell do you want me to say?” I snapped. My breaking point had been reached long ago, and when something is supposed to be over it is meant to stay that way. How was I ever supposed to move on with my life if the worst parts of my past kept being resurrected? There were tears welling in my own eyes, and oddly enough the anger I threw at him seemed to be comforting.  
  
“Just be honest.” He whispered, unaffected by the sudden presence of the team. I counted four sets of footsteps.  
  
“Honestly? There is no way in hell I could ever forgive you. I don’t give a damn if you’ve got voices in your head or if you’re sorry! It isn’t my goddamn problem that you can’t sort yourself out. I don’t even know your real name, all I know is that for _four months_ of my life you stood by and watched me being tortured. Then you let me believe you were someone else, made me fall in love with you and then left me. I want you to put that gun down and surrender and leave me alone.”  
  
He nodded slowly, sniffling back the water works. I wasn’t completely honest, because I was torn in two. I had loved him once. Or at least a version of him. There was no telling how much of him he’d let out into Luke Evans. I’d long since gotten over the shock of it all, but no matter how much you hate someone, no matter how much they hurt you or things go wrong, if you cared about them you always will. In some sick and twisted way they reserve a spot in your heart like it’s a damn parking lot. And as much as I wanted him to leave me alone, a small part of me remembered how happy I’d been with him, once upon a time…  
  
“You know, you were the only girl I ever loved. My Natasha.” He mused, a small smile worming onto his face. I crossed my arms, shaking my head. “You were kind to me when no one else was. You saved my life, even after I ruined yours. And I hurt you, so much, and I’m sorry.”  
  
He stepped up to me, those sickeningly blue eyes watering as his face contorted for a moment, holding the other voices back. With a gun in his hand he leaned forward a pressed his lips to mine. This lost boy, a mystery to us all. If I wasn’t so worried about the safety of us all I would have pushed him off, but I knew enough about situations like this that in this case indulgence was the key to survival. His free hand moved to my face and all I could see was Paris, this moment as it had been years ago; how perfect it had seemed. And, just like Paris, it was snatched away with the sound of the safety being turned off of a gun.  
  
It pressed against my stomach as he pulled away, his features moving in a fury as the personalities fought for control. I was completely at his mercy. He looked at me with the hatred of Deimos, growled that I killed his father and pressed the gun more against me as Rossi told him to drop the gun. At this new voice Deimos fell and was conquered by Luke or whatever his real name was. He pulled away immediately, retreating backwards and shaking. I begged him to let us go. He looked up, staring at all of the guns pointed at him, at his hostage to the side and his love before him.  
  
“I won’t let him hurt you, Tasha.” He whimpered. “He won’t ever hurt you again.”  
  
He cocked the gun and took quick steps towards me. Morgan shouted for him to drop it immediately, to stop, stop, stop. I saw his gun raised in my peripheral vision as the boy kissed me one last time and pulled away. My eyes grew wide as I understood what he meant. I cried out for him to stop as he raised the gun to his head, whispering a name before pulling the trigger.  
  
 _Charlie Summers._  
  
A loud bang and a shower of wetness before his body fell limp to the ground. Morgan and Rossi moved to the body as Prentiss crossed to Hotch and freed him. Spencer stood at my side, reaching out his hand to touch my arm. I pulled away, taking a shaky step back, wide-eyed.  
  
Tonight was supposed to be special.  
  
I could feel the blood splattered on my face, could feel it dripping down my neck and could see the droplets racing down the front of my dress. One last reminder. Rossi confirmed the death that was obvious, his body obstructing the view of the head. After a few moments I forced my gaze away, turning to Hotch as he rubbed his wrists. I felt incredibly drained of all energy, completely weak. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I never expected this, not in the slightest. I didn’t have the heart to say anything more than I would meet him at the hospital.  
  
“I’m fine, really.” He promised.  
  
“I’ll _meet_ you at the _hospital_.” I hissed, challenging him with a glare. For the first time, I was pulling rank. I was calling the shots, and he was going to listen. Spencer tried to come with me but I shot him down, slowly getting into the car and driving home at the speed limit, obeying every stop sign and traffic light. I knew that the image would be hard to erase from my mind: every time I blinked I saw him.  
  
The trees and the streetlights all blurred by, my mind successfully split between the part of me driving home and the part of me replaying the death. Was there something I could have done differently, or was this his plan from the moment Ares was dead; the ultimate endgame? Every move felt robotic as I got home, stripping out of the ruined dress and ripping the pins and ties out of my hair. I avoided all mirrors as I made it to the washroom, turning on the shower and stepping inside.  
  
As the water ran through my hair, bits of skin and skull were pulled free. They clanked on the bottom of the tub with eerie force, and I tried to ignore the red water as it ran for the drain. The redness that was in a living person moments ago. The sight of it, though, couldn’t be ignored. I braced myself against the wall and curtain, almost pulling it down as I threw up. I was almost angry with myself—I’d seen people get shot before when I was on the force. It shouldn’t have shocked me so much. But maybe it was just because of who it was. Charlie Summers. When I had rid myself of his physical memory I got dressed and called Garcia, telling her the name and asking her to keep it quiet. Anything she found was to come to me directly and no one else. If anyone else asked about him, say it was a dead end.  
  
I emptied the stained clutch, left the gun I hadn’t even bothered to take out, and headed back down to the parking lot. My hair, still wet, clung to me and chilled my skin. The nearest hospital was St. Mary’s, only ten minutes away. I somehow stretched it out into twenty. Hotch would be fine after a few stitches, but I didn’t think I’d be able to handle seeing any more of his blood. He needed to be all safe and cleaned up for me to even look at him. I felt somehow guilty as I went up to the front desk and received my directions. As if I had some deep secret, an affair I hadn’t told him about. I couldn’t place why; he wasn’t going to be angry about the kiss. He understood, I knew that. But I still couldn’t shake this feeling that being near him right now wasn’t right.  
  
Soon enough I found him, immediately regretting not bringing him a change of clothes first. The few drops of blood stood out like sore thumbs on his white shirt, a painful reminder of the complete 180 the night had made. How it started and how it ended summed up in millimetre of red. He looked up at me cautiously; he wasn’t hiding how obvious it was that I was shaken up. In a feeble attempt to calm him slightly I wrapped my arms around him, staying there only for a moment before pulling away.  
  
“You’re okay?” An obvious question with an obvious answer. Of course he was okay. I just needed to hear it from him. He nodded once as he got to his feet, grabbing his jacked off the cot.  
  
“Are you ready to go home?” He asked, beginning his exit. I stood still, arms wrapped around myself as I tried to figure out how to tell him. “What is it?”  
  
“Hotch, you know that I’m not…I wasn’t still in love with him, right?” He nodded. “I just need to be on my own tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”  
  
“If you need anything—”  
  
“You’ll be the first to know.” I promised, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek before walking in the opposite direction. His footsteps were delayed and he was no doubt confused about my reaction. I just couldn’t stand to be around anyone for the moment; I just needed some time to breathe. To sort myself out. I guess I’d just thought he’d always be accessible, if the time ever came when I wanted to talk to him…perhaps ask him why or yell at him. There was no choice, now. No possibility.  
  
The apartment was too quiet, every little noise made me think of the gunshot. It was so different, up close. So much louder. Or maybe it’d just been the small space we were in; either way it was the loudest most drawn out sound I’d ever heard. It echoed in my brain like a ricocheting bullet, and every shadow moved like a falling body. It wasn’t normal, knowing so many different versions of someone. It’s impossible to know how you feel about them. Curling up in my bed I kept the phone nearby, leaving the light on and trying to calm my mind.  
  
Tonight was supposed to be special.


	33. King of Hearts; Jack of Spades

_"In a time of universal deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act." – George Orwell_

* * *

  
The next day I didn’t call Hotch, despite my promise. I didn’t call anyone or pick up the phone whenever someone called. Their voices on the answering machine echoed through the apartment, bouncing off every wall and into my overflowing mind. For most of the day I just moved from couch to bed and back again. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. Every sound was loud like the gunshot, every colour dull in comparison to the blood.  
  
Once, long ago, I had loved him. Charlie. Charles Alec Summers, born three months after me to the day. Penelope had emailed me everything she’d found, however little it was. As I sifted through the information I kept trying to remind myself that he’d stood by during everything that happened to me, that he’d tricked me and lied to me and left me and everything in between. But as my eyes danced across the pages, read the police report of the kidnapped child and testimony from the parents, I couldn’t hate him. Not really.  
  
What really changed things for me though, what really pushed me over the edge, was the website. Amongst all of the legal documents and falsified identifications, she’d stumbled upon a blog. She’d print-screened all the pages before taking it down so no one else would find it. After I had everything saved on my computer and backed up onto another hard drive I asked her to delete everything from her computer. I had no way of knowing if she actually did, but I trusted her to do so. These things were meant for me, and Charlie made that clear. The headline ran across the top of every page, _Letters from Charlie._ There were seven undated entries—that was it. Seven pieces to a puzzle that I hadn’t wanted to complete until now.  
  
 _I  
Once upon a time there was a little boy named Charlie who lived in a magic castle. Charlie was 8 when he was taken by the Big Bad Wolf. The Wolf brought Charlie to his house in the woods where he had an older boy already. He was given a new name. He was given a new identity. He was told to obey. He had a new father now.  
  
II  
If only Charlie knew where the keys were, he would free the princesses. He would free them and maybe they would run away with him and he would have his own happy ending. But the Wolf did such a good job of hiding them. Charlie just wanted to rescue them. They cried so much.  
  
III  
She escaped today. She stabbed the guard and she escaped. Charlie tried to leave too but he spent too long thinking of somewhere to go and the Wolf caught him in the forest. The older boy wasn’t dead and needed to be looked after, the Wolf said.  
  
IV  
Charlie found her again. At the university—oh, she is so lovely. She’s met Luke and I think she likes him. Wolf is watching, always watching, but never ordering. Never biting. Wolf is quiet. Wolf may be sleeping for the first time. And Charlie plays when the Wolf is asleep.  
  
V  
Charlie oh Charlie poor Charlie dear Charlie. Charlie fell in love. Charlie planned it all. But Charlie is a sheep and the Wolf is a beast and all good things go to those who eat and when Charlie plays he becomes the prey. But Wolf is forgiving. The ring is on her finger. Wolf is forgiving, if Charlie returns. A life for a life. Charlie’s life of servitude for her life continuing. Charlie thinks this is a fair trade. Charlie hopes he made the right choice. Charlie is in love with her.  
  
VI  
The older boy died today and the Wolf is very mad. He says Charlie must leave for the new land. Charlie doesn’t want to go. Charlie knows the Wolf lied and that the last princess is in danger. The Wolf has two names in his book. Two endings. Charlie doesn’t want to help but he has to. He always has to. Charlie doesn’t want to start again…  
  
VII  
She will never know. Oh, Charlie is so sorry for everything. He wishes he stopped the Wolf when it was still hunting season. Charlie wishes he had the courage to make a bear trap. But the Princess is safe now, even if she hates Charlie. He loves her so dearly and will miss her when he’s gone. This is the end of the story. This is the happiest ending a lamb can have. The wool has been taken and the other sheep are trying to take over. But Charlie will play one last time; he will see her one last time before the end. He loves her. I love you. I’m so sorry for everything. I hope you can forgive me. I hope you find your lion, but I will always be your lamb. You can live my happily ever after for me. My sweet Natasha.  
  
The End._  
  
The real death of Phobos must’ve been the trigger for Ares—Miller to come after me again. It was the only thing that made sense. It was the last entry, though, that hit me the hardest. I wanted to go back in time and tell him that I forgave him. I didn’t want the last words he ever heard to be hurtful ones, least of all from the girl he loved. This plagued me, my own scornful voice resonating in my ears, mingling with the gunshot.  
  
Sunday passed and the feelings didn’t go away. As much as I hated wallowing in my own self-pity, in feeling bad for myself because of something I’d done, I just couldn’t focus. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get into the state of mind I needed to be in to do my job. So my options were to go in anyways and risk messing up something on a case—usually balancing between life and death for one or more people—or cave in and request a day off. Personal time.  
  
There was no part of me that wanted to talk to anyone on the team, because they cared too much. They would want to make sure I was okay and I didn’t want to lie, because I most definitely was not. Instead I called one of the other agents on the floor, Anderson. I asked him to kindly pass along the message that I wouldn’t be in today for personal reasons. It would be no secret to anyone on the team given most of them had witnessed it, but it saved me the trouble of promising I would be okay.  
  
At around 8 I left a message on his answering machine and began to clean up my apartment. It had fallen to ruin over the weekend, and the process of putting everything back in its designated place helped to calm me. After the place was clean and there was nothing left for me to do I decided to take a walk. I didn’t really have a destination, I just needed to clear my head so that I wouldn’t miss another day of work. It was 11 by the time I left, Spencer calling just as I locked my door. For a moment I debated whether or not to answer, but eventually rejected the call and started walking.  
  
It didn’t take my feet a long time to decide where they were going despite the fact that it wasn’t particularly close by. I needed to see it, I needed to go back. The park that I cut through was teeming with mothers and their children and with elderly people taking their time as they walked along the paths. Happiness. Life. This was what I was leaving behind, exchanging it for sadness and death as I exited the park. My path led me to the run-down neighbourhood and eventually to the townhouse I’d been in days before.  
  
The yellow crime scene tape still clung to the door frame, its severed bands flapping in the wind like a white flag of surrender. The door offered no resistance as I pushed it open and stepped through. The house was so old that, even after being rinsed down, the floorboards retained the smell of blood and death. In the middle of the main room there was a dark stain where he’d bled out. A sigh escaped me as I shook my head, biting back the tears that struggled to break free.  
  
“I’m sorry, Charlie.”  
  
My voice was a pathetic whisper that crackled like a cancer patient’s against the silence of the place. If ever there was a time I believe in ghosts, it was now. I needed them to be real, I needed him to be here so he would know what I was saying. So we could both be at peace.  
  
I stayed for a bit but the smell and the darkness and the general memory attached to the place drove me out eventually. With everything that had gone on since the final show-down with Ares, I hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about it since my recovery time. I had made peace with one ghost, I supposed it was time to do it with the other. The ghost of myself, the Natasha Reid that perished in that fire along with Ares.  
  
It was a long walk, and there were a few people I passed on the street that made me wish I’d brought my gun. When I got to the place where the house had stood, I was faced with a pile of rubble. The second-longest time of my life reduced to cement blocks and ashes. Somewhere in there were the remains of Anton Miller, the debris scattered across the field surrounding the property. I took out my phone, suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to call Spencer, but the explosion had knocked down the cell tower on the outskirts of the property and left me with no service.  
  
Taking a seat on the edge of the property, I took a deep breath and made a promise to myself. I had no reason to be fearful of anything anymore, had no reason to be weak or dependent on anyone else. The little girl that Miller had ruined would remain here, unsalvageable and unneeded any more. I had the whole team to thank for that. Without Spencer I never would have made it, but without the team I would never have survived. I had found the family to which I belonged.  
  


* * *

  
Re-entering the world of cell service turned into an ambush against my phone. It just kept buzzing with notification after notification: missed call, text, text, text, missed call, voice mail, voice mail, missed call, voice mail, text, missed call, voice mail. I was too tired, though, to bother checking them all and responding. There would be time later.  
  
The sun was warm on my back, turning everything orange and pink as I turned the corner onto my street. My feet had long since abandoned my shoes, the two black oblong forms switching from hand to hand when one got too tired. I kept my eyes peeled for any painful debris as I walked along the grassy dividers between sidewalk and roadway.  
  
When I got close to my building I saw something I wasn’t expecting. Hotch was sitting on the doorstep, waiting for something or someone anxiously. He looked like he’d been there for hours, and a knot began to twist in my stomach as I remembered the phone in my pocket and my sudden departure. I cleared my throat as I got closer and his head snapped up from his hands. He got to his feet in a heartbeat, a wild look in his eyes.  
  
“Where have you been?” His voice was harsh and I recoiled from it, taking a step back and avoiding his eye. “Everyone’s been calling you, searching for you, we’ve been worried for hours—”  
  
“I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight and—”  
  
“You’re right. You were being _reckless_.”  
  
I looked up at him, the light casting shadows over his features and filling his eyes with darkness. It was too much, such a stark juxtaposition to the bright, open peacefulness I’d come from—so I took wide steps around him and walked into the lobby. I heard him sigh before the door shut and I slipped my feet across the cold and quiet ceramic tiles until I reached the elevator. It began its slow descent from the top floor, illuminating each number as it reached it, passed it, proceeded. The door opened behind me, a rush of wind slipping through and rustling the plant in the sitting area.  
  
“I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” He said calmly from behind me.  
  
“You’re my boss, you can do whatever you want.” I replied as the elevator doors opened. He called my name out in protest as I stepped in but I ignored him, pressing the 5th button and waiting for the doors to close. At the last second he decided to come in and I took a deep breath, trying to hold in the tears that were ready to start their evacuation. I busied myself with trying to put my shoes back on.  
  
“You just worried us is all.”  
  
“Well I was out of cell range, Hotch, I didn’t plan it that way.”  
  
“Which is why it made us so nervous. You just didn’t show up for work—”  
  
“Why is it always we or us? Why can’t you just admit that it made you nervous? That you were the one searching or waiting for hours? Not everything has to do with the team, especially whatever thing this is we have going. And I called in this morning, I thought that was the protocol.”  
  
The elevator doors opened and I slipped past him, pulling out the keys and dropping them twice before finally getting into my apartment. I knew he was following me and although the angry part of me wanted to lock him out, the much bigger, _make up now_ part of me allowed him to walk right in. He mumbled something about not getting any message, and I explained that I’d called Anderson. He reached out before I could hasten my escape and caught my hand, tugging on it until I turned around. His hands held mine and he looked down at them for a moment before making eye contact.  
  
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I looked up at him skeptically. “I just…I worry about you. About losing you.”  
  
“Jesus Christ….” I mumbled, shaking my head as tears welled. “After everything, all the sneaking around and secrets and making you break the rules…How could you think, even for a _second_ , that I could just leave?”  
  
His hands released mine only to come up and extinguish the water droplets. They moved their way to the back of my head and brought my lips to his. I welcomed the gesture whole-heartedly, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and holding on tight.  
  
“Some of those rules were broken more than once, too.” He smirked. A blush crept onto my face as I pulled him back to me, securing one hand at the back of his neck. I kicked my shoes off so I was more comfortable and squeaked as he lifted me up and set me on the back of the couch. My legs wrapped around his middle as he leaned down to keep us connected, his hands braced on either side of me. As a most unwelcome interruption, my phone began to ring again. I groaned, grabbing hold of his tie and keeping him in place until I fished my phone out, pausing for a moment to catch my breath and then answering.  
  
“Natasha Reid.”  
  
“Tash! Where’ve you been? I left you like four messages, are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine Spence. I just hit a dead zone.”  
  
“Well does Hotch know you’re okay?”  
  
“I think he knows I’m alright.” I smirked at Hotch, who turned away as far as he could, considering I was holding onto his leash. “I’m really sorry, Spence. I didn’t mean to.”  
  
“I guess I’ll call the others…”  
  
He hung up on me and I bit my lip, knowing I’d struck a nerve with everyone now probably. At least it was easy to make up with everyone else—apologies for the team, making out with Hotch—but Spencer was a different story. Especially after the Miller fiasco.  
  
“I think I’ve got an angry cousin.”  
  
“He’ll come around.” He waited until my attention was back to him and I began to pull at his tie until he slipped his hands under my legs and carried me around and set us both down on the couch. I didn’t wait for an invitation to lean forward, pinning him down and flattening my body against his.  
  
We broke away and I settled for resting my head on his chest, pulling at a loose thread on his shirt and tracing the designs on his tie. He was stroking my hair absently as he looked out the window. A quiet sigh escaped me as I contemplated the pure bliss and serenity of the moment. I wanted it to last forever. He tilted my chin up to look at him and I propped myself up on my elbows to pay attention. He gave me another kiss.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
The unexpectedness of it shot my eyes wide open. My throat ran dry and my hands contracted into little balls. I kept waiting, waiting for him to tell me it was a joke or that _surprise_ , he was also the son of a serial killer out for my blood. But it never came. And after what I determined was long enough to know it wasn’t a joke, I snapped myself out of it.  
  
“I love you too.”


	34. Marked

_"The sea has never been friendly to man. At most it has been the accomplice of human restlessness." – Joseph Conrad_

* * *

  
  
It was amazing that in such a short time in Virginia, I had completely lost all tolerance for heat. The dress code for federal agents wasn’t the most forgiving, and as we stood in the middle of the beach which bordered our massive crime scene I wanted nothing more than to peel all of my clothes off—or at least cool down in the water. Well, perhaps not the water directly in front of us, considering it was the sight of a mass grave.  
  
We’d been called out to Jacksonville, Florida when a maintenance man working on a rig found a skull lodged in the extractor pipe. This lead to the discover of nine adult remains, which was unnerving enough without Penelope explaining that there were only six missing persons cases in Jacksonville and that three of those were children. It was always more difficult when the unsub killed elsewhere and just dumped the bodies.  
  
The Florida PD had set up a series of tent-tops near the water so that we had lots of space to work while being close to our crime scene. There was a table where all of the remains had been laid out—although some victims were only identified by a single bone. Spencer had been working on aging the bones and determined that the latest dump was a month prior. Our unsub had nine victims in nine years and crossed not only gender but racial lines as well.  
  
The discovery would be all over the news, and the unsub would change his dumping ground. Although, as Hotch pointed out, using the same place for so many bodies meant it bared some sort of emotional significance to the unsub. In a case where the unsub showed intense control of his urges, no discernible victim pattern, and no visible sexual motivation, the graveyard would probably be our most reliable ticket to catching him.  
  
“Bless you Jennifer.” I sighed as she handed Emily and me a paper bag full of some kind of take out. I wasted no time diving into the burger, having long-since grown accustomed to the graveyard we were working in.  
  
“Nothing’s sexier than a woman who’s not afraid to eat.”  
  
My eyes grew wide and the three of us turned in unison to face one of the policemen on duty. He looked young, probably a rookie or something. I swallowed what was in my mouth before setting down the food and withholding a laugh.  
  
“Sorry, how old are you? Fifteen?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. He smirked, delving his hands into his pockets and taking a few steps closer.  
  
“I’m 21.” He challenged as Emily and I exchanged a look. “The name’s Tyler.”  
  
“Well, kid, in case you haven’t noticed this is a federal investigation that’s going on. So why don’t you run along and let the adults get some work done?”  
  
“If you want.” He shrugged as I turned away from him. “But the chase is half the fun.”  
  
He walked away, casting glances back at me as I stared at Emily and JJ completely dumbfounded. Morgan had caught the exchange and gave me a questioning look but I waved it off as nothing. It reminded me of the Chicago days and that Morgan had to play creep-shield to Jeff Colby.  
  
“That was ballsy.” Emily said, getting a burger of her own. “Are you gonna tell Hotch?”  
  
“God no, he’d probably have the poor kid fired.” I wiped a bit of ketchup off my cheek and started to focus again on the case. We knew our unsub was a sadist by the marks on the bones and judging by how the bodies were cut up and the fact that the graveyard was underwater he was in all likelihood a fisherman. The problem was, as Derek had relayed, there were over thirty thousand registered boats in Florida. I found him by the remains table and offered him some of my fries.  
  
“Thanks baby girl.” He said distantly. I followed his eyes to the table where a pelvic bone sat under a label reading ‘African American Female, approximately 20s, died 2004.” It made my stomach drop and I looked up at him. “I don’t think it’s her.”  
  
“You’re going to be hearing from your aunt soon.” I said quietly. “What are you going to tell her?”  
  
He sighed heavily before turning away and shrugging. I wrapped my free arm around his waist and squeezed before leaving him in peace. There was a long-running case in Morgan’s family: his cousin Cindy had been the victim of a stalker for some time and eventually left Chicago in 2004 to escape him. The problem was that no one had heard from her since, and every time a case came up with unidentified remains of a young black female Derek’s aunt Yvonne came running, convinced it was her. All she wanted was closure, and she couldn’t even have that.  
  
Rossi and Hotch made the call to use the media coverage to our advantage, making a formal request for all people with family or friends who went missing on the east coast to come down to the station with some form of DNA so we could attempt to identify the victims. We all headed back to the station for the interviewing process, and grouped up when we got our first confirmed match. The victim had written a postcard to her friend that sounded an awful lot like a suicide note, basically insinuating she was never returning home. Exactly the kind of thing to cover a killer’s tracks.  
  
“Miss, here’s the files you wanted on the vic.” I cringed at the sound of a familiar voice, shooting a look at Hotch—who was partially distracted by Morgan—before turning to take the files.  
  
“Hon, you really need to stop.” I said sternly, turning away from him. He leaned on the desk beside me, a smirk on his face.  
  
“It’s Natasha, right?” I raised my eyebrow at him. “How does your brother ever let you out of the house?”  
  
“He’s my cousin, first off,” I began, facing him with increased agitation. “Secondly, no one _lets_ me do anything. And thirdly, he doesn’t worry about me because I am fully capable of incapacitating you with or without a weapon. So if you’d kindly piss off so I can work, that’d be great. We are trying to catch a serial killer, here.”  
  
“Is everything alright?” Hotch asked from across the table. The boy winked at me, hovering a moment before finally leaving me in peace. “What was that?”  
  
“Forget about it.” I said simply, opening the file and flipping through the pages. “Hey, look at this. It looks like the vic was taking medication to treat Parkinson’s.”  
  
“There’s a drug called Trilomine, in minor doses it can be used to treat Parkinson’s but its main use is for seasickness.” Spencer explained, studying the postcard. “Which is something a fisherman would have access to.”  
  
“Criminals in South America use it,” Derek began. “In high doses it can make you completely obedient to any suggestion you’re given. There’ve even been reports of some people helping thugs load their things into a truck as they steal from them.”  
  
We consulted the other family members after that and came up with four more postcards, three from Miami and two from Charleston including the latest victim. Through the interviews we learned that each of the victims had been meaning to make a fresh start, either just getting out of a relationship or starting a new job. The postcards, of course, were the main reason why the victim’s families had waited so long before filing a missing person’s report.  
  
The hours passed as we searched for new angles and more evidence. At one point I watched as Rossi even interviewed Derek about Cindy, despite the fact that she wasn’t a confirmed victim. There was an ache in my chest as I watched his expressions, the way he held the photograph of his little cousin and the defensiveness in the form of irritability that crept into his body language. He’d already gotten the call from his aunt, and although she wore her heart on her sleeve I knew that it was eating him up just as much. He was just better at holding it in.  
  
“Alright, thanks Garcia.” We had all gathered around the table in one of the conference rooms and began to piece together what we knew.  
  
“Anytime, my captain!” The line went dead and we all collectively sighed, struggling for a new direction to take. Emily cleared her throat, drawing all eyes to her before nodding behind me.  
  
“Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me.” I muttered under my breath as the boy headed towards us with a collection of coffee.  
  
“Looks like you guys could use a pick-me-up.” He said, handing out the coffees. Pausing at me, he leaned in closer than necessary and made me cringe away. “And for you, beautiful.”  
  
“What was that, officer?” Hotch asked. I shot a look at Emily and sighed, knowing this would turn into a battle.  
  
“I was just complimenting your agent here on her beauty, sir.”  
  
“Alright,” I began, handing the coffee back to him. “Kid, you need to take a hint and back off, okay?”  
  
“One date. That’s all I’m asking for.” I cringed at these words, watching Hotch rise from the corner of my eye.  
  
“Do you understand that we are in the middle of a murder investigation and the hunt for a serial killer?” There was that terrifying stare, the look that made grown men shake. And here was this cocky kid, completely missing the point and challenging him anyways. It was like watching a cub take on the head of the pride. The hormonal adolescent against the Alpha Male. “It is completely against your code of conduct—”  
  
“Hotch, let’s not be hypocrites.” I began, getting to my feet and glancing back at the kid. Pulling on Hotch’s tie I brought his lips to mine, kissing him briefly. “There’s a few things we do that don’t follow a code of conduct.”  
  
“Son of a bitch.” The kid muttered as I turned back to him offering a smug smile.  
  
“Do you get the picture now?” I released Hotch and crossed my arms over my chest. “We’re all on the clock here, so I’m sure there’s something more productive you could be doing with your time, officer.”  
  
He disappeared wordlessly and I sat back down, kicking at Emily under the table for the smile she was trying (and failing) to contain. The papers were covering the table and I surveyed them all as we fell into silence.  
  
“Fishing is a job meant usually taken up by loners.” I began, staring at the pages. “But our unsub gets his victims onto the boat before he tortures them. What if he runs some sort of charter? There’s tons of tourism in Miami.”  
  
“Lures people onto his boat, people going alone let him know they’re vulnerable. “Rossi nodded. “A few harmless questions would let him know who’d be missing them at home.”  
  
Spencer delivered his findings on the linguistics profile he ran on all of the postcards. When that was complete we gathered the local police to give the profile. The unsub’s first victim was his father—an alcoholic and likely violently abusive man—and he targeted people who somehow were seen as leaving their responsibilities behind.  
  
It was late into the night and although we had a profile, although we were all motivated to catch this killer before he got too far away, we were stuck on leads and all the coffee in the world couldn’t keep us awake forever. Hotch told us all to go back to the hotel around one am and to go back at the case with fresh eyes in the morning. I went into my room, sat on the bed and tried to relax; but I kept remembering the fiasco with the rookie and smiled at Hotch’s reaction. After a few minutes I grabbed a case file for a ruse and left my room, taking comfort in the emptiness of the hallway as I knocked on the door. He let me in and looked at me expectantly as though I had something case-related to say.  
  
“Sit down for a minute.” The case file fell from my hand to the dresser with a thud as the bed creaked behind me. I pulled my hair from its ponytail before unbuttoning my shirt. “You know, it’s kind of a turn on when you get all protective.”  
  
“Is that so?” He teased. I turned around, ignoring his shocked response and kicking off my shoes. Leaning forward, I kissed him and began to work at his shirt. He pulled away after a moment, giving me a weary look. “We can’t. We’re on the job.”  
  
“No we’re not.” I whined. “You said we should all get some rest which means that everyone is technically on leave for sleeping right now. As in off the clock. As in free time.”  
  
“Natasha.” He tried to reason, a small smile on his face. I groaned, standing up straight and putting my hands on my hips.  
  
“You don’t get it, do you? You can’t just go around in those stupid shirts with the top button open and the sleeves rolled up half way and the sunglasses and just expect me to stand here normally.”  
  
“What?” he laughed. I rolled my eyes, pulling off my shirt and pants. Crossing my arms under my chest I flipped my hair back.  
  
“How much work do you think you’d get done if I walked around on that beach all day dressed like this?” I raised my eyebrows at him.  
  
“None.” He said simply.  
  
“Yeah, well, a good suit to girls is what lingerie is to guys.” I crawled onto him again, pushing him back onto the bed. “It just makes me horny.”  
  
Before he could say anything else I kissed him so he’d shut up and resumed working on his stupid shirt. Of course, he caved. His hand trailed down my side while the other tangled in my hair. My fingers made quick business of his belt, ripping the thing off and throwing it to the floor. I danced my hands up his chest before pushing myself up, peeling off his shirt entirely and working at the hooks on my bra. Ready to pull the damn thing off my hands pressed it to my skin at the sound of my phone ringing.  
  
“Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.” I breathed, hesitating a moment before grabbing my phone off the floor and flicking it open, taking a moment to try and sound normal. “Natasha Reid.”  
  
“Hey Tash, it’s Spence. I think I might’ve found a pattern in the victimology, I’m down at the café in the lobby if you want to come down.”  
  
“Sure thing.” I sighed before hanging up and quickly relaying everything to Hotch. I groaned, collapsing forward onto him, his fingers working to hook my bra back up. “I can’t believe I’m getting cockblocked by Spence. Isn’t that illegal yet?”  
  
“Unfortunately not.” He sat up, taking me with him, and reached to pull his shirt back on as I begrudgingly kissed him.  
  
“We are spending an _entire day_ making up for this when we get back.” Finally getting off of him, I pulled on all my clothes and made sure I looked presentable before going down to see Spencer. His legs were crossed under him on the seat and he had one hand supporting his head as he scoured over the files with Rossi and Morgan.  
  
“We think he’s using a train.” Spencer said as I sat on the armrest of his chair. He explained how Morgan had come to him with the point that Cindy was terrified of boats and wouldn’t have ever willingly boarded one. Although she wasn’t a confirmed victim, it was still a viable path to consider and Rossi had come up with the idea of a passenger train—the only form of transportation that wouldn’t leave any traceable documents.  
  
“The coast guard just found a body.” Hotch announced as he walked into the café. “Morgan, you and Reid go to the autopsy and find out if it’s our unsub.”  
  
The new spring in the case brought everyone back from the hotel and forced us into the station once more. Morgan and Spencer relayed that the latest vic had self-inflicted wounds and the same drug in his system. There were defensive wounds on him as well, but it would’ve been nearly impossible for the victim to overcome the drug and act on his own. It was Derek who pointed out that only a severe need to protect—like that of a father and their child—would be able to push someone to overpower the drug.  
  
It was exactly the break we needed. Garcia started searching for single fathers who had recently relocated to the area and come up with a hit. The custody battles and messy divorce must have reminded the unsub of his own relationship with his father. Garcia cross-referenced the list of boat owners with train employees of the line that the latest victim’s son had taken to visit him. She found a match, Blake Wells, who fit the profile to a tee.  
  
Hotch and Morgan split up, each taking a swat team to the two possible locations of the unsub while the rest of us stayed behind to wrap up the investigation. I was taking down the evidence boards with Emily while JJ took care of the policemen and detectives. Hotch called to let us know that Morgan had caught Wells and that the little boy was fine. Moving out of earshot I reminded him that we had unfinished business, and he promised we would take care of it as soon as we got back.


	35. Blood Bond

_“Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we’re opened, we’re red.” – Clive Barker_

* * *

  
  
The instincts and years of training kicked in as I mirrored Hotch’s footsteps. Gun gripped with both hands, I kept it down as we followed the suspect through the labyrinth of side streets—ones that he was unfortunately much more familiar with. At one point I almost knocked into a garbage can, narrowly avoiding it at the last moment and rushing to regain my focus. The suspect turned the corner and Hotch followed faster than I could. I was just about to turn the corner when a shot was fired. My heart jumped to my throat in panic; Hotch never would have shot that early.  
  
When my feet finally brought me around the corner I froze, gun held up and aimed at the suspect half way ahead of me in the alleyway. Hotch was leaning against a dumpster, the upper sleeve of his shirt saturated in red. I could see the blood soaking onto his skin as he clutched it and I knew that I only had minutes. The bullet had hit his brachial artery.  
  
“Put it down!” I yelled, taking quick steps over to Hotch but keeping my gun trained on the suspect. He looked at me for a few moments as I repeated my command, slower this time. I put myself between him and Hotch, giving my attention to the latter for just a moment. In that time the suspect turned on his feet and started to run. I could have easily put a bullet through his head, and part of me wanted to for what he’d done. But the bigger part of me forced my aim down to his leg and fired. He fell immediately, wailing for a few moments before raising his gun to me. “Put it down or this time you’ll get it between the goddamn eyes!”  
  
He surrendered and tossed the gun away, gripping at his leg as I relayed my immediate need of medical assistance. Finally I turned to Hotch, dropping to my knees and stuttering out a few dummy words about how everything was going to be fine. He was already slipping, head lolling from side to side as each passing second robbed him of more and more blood. I wrapped my hands tightly around his arm, raising it upright in hopes to slow the rush of blood.  
  
“Stay with me.” I begged, nudging him. “C’mon, I want to hear the track list of the White Album. From the top, let’s go.”  
  
“U.S.S.R… Birthday, Dear Prudence…Yer Blues, Glass Onion, Mother… Nature’s Son, Everybody…” He trailed off and I shook him, trying to keep a grip but my hands kept slipping. I yelled again for the medics just as they came around the corner. I explained in a rush what had happened, stepping aside as they got to work. Derek and Emily showed up as they got him onto the gurney, their eyes scanning the scene and resting on me for answers. My hands, covered in his blood, were shaking horribly.  
  
“Bullet hit an artery.” I said quickly, pushing past them and clambering into the ambulance after the medics. “St. Vincent’s hospital.”  
  
The name of the hospital was all that I could get out before the doors shut and we were on our way. I stayed out of their way as much as possible, although my hands still shook with panic. We only made it about half way there before he passed out, my head spinning at the possibility that they might not be able to save him. He could die. He could be dead in a few minute’s time.  
  
This was all I could think about for the rest of the time. When we reached the hospital I followed after them, going as far as I was allowed and then hovering at the door to the ER as if it would do any good. There was so much that I’d wanted to tell him, it couldn’t end like this. Not because of some idiot kid with a gun and stupid aim and bad luck. After everything he’d been through, all of the psychos and serial killers and demon of his own, this could not be what killed Aaron Hotchner.  
  
Eventually I was directed to the waiting room by a nurse, my feet able to tear themselves away before my mind. Waiting rooms, such a horrible invention. They were too white and too bland; a blank canvas for every fear and worst nightmare and anxious thought to be painted on. A masterpiece made with 6 shades of doubt. A sculpture moulded from raw panic. The blood on my hands was slowly drying, caking on like latex gloves. My leg was twitching, this rerouted fear that quelled the shaking of my hands.  
  
After about fifteen minutes of sitting there looking like a horror story to the other patrons of the hospital, Emily and Spencer showed up. They had the kindness to save any questions for a better time, resolving to take a seat and wait along with me. This team wouldn’t function— _I_ wouldn’t function without Hotch. No one could take his place; not as a Chief, not as a lover, and certainly not as a father for Jack. He’d already lost one parent; I refused to let him lose another. Especially when it could have been avoided. If I’d gone first it would have been me in there, not him. Everyone on the team had been just fine before meeting me. Even Hotch. Even Spencer could make it if I was dead. But not if Hotch was.  
  
After an hour and a half—although it felt much more like a _year_ and a half—a nurse came out into the room. All heads turned to face her, but it was the team and I receiving news. The others’ waiting would continue. She came up to me, the look on her face indecipherable.  
  
“He’s going to make it.” If I hadn’t already been sitting down, I would have collapsed. A whimper escaped me as I went to put my hands to my mouth before remembering the state they were in. “But he’s lost a lot of blood. We’re going to need to know his blood type before we begin any transfusions.”  
  
“Take mine.” I got to my feet, pulling off my vest and tossing it onto the chair behind me. “I’ve got type O blood; just take as much as you need.”  
  
The nurse nodded once, asking me to follow her. I gave one anxious look at the team before going after her. She led me to a room filled with at least two dozen hospital beds, most enclosed by a curtain. She turned to the 9th one on the left and pulled back the curtains. She went to get a chair and some supplies, leaving me to look at his unconscious form. I worked my hand into his, finding peace in the reassuring stability of his heart monitor. His vest was resting at the foot of the bed, his injured arm completely bare where the shirt had been cut away. There was a neat row of stitches on the outside, a precursor to the ones that lined his insides.  
  
“With the anesthetic he’ll probably be out for another half hour or so.” The nurse informed me, motioning for me to sit down. I kept my eyes on him as she rubbed a cotton ball wet with antiseptic along my inner elbow. After she set up the equipment she instructed me to relax as she stuck the needle into my basilic vein. She gave me some juice to drink, insisting that if I refused it I wouldn’t be able to give as much blood as was needed.  
  
It only took about twenty-five minutes until the blood bag was full and ready to go. It was about a pint—all that was allowed to be taken at a time and all that was required. The nurse worked quickly to set up the transfusion, hooking him up to more tubes before twisting a switch and letting my blood flow into him at a monitored rate. She sterilized my arm again and then covered up the spot with a patch before leaving me.  
  
I rubbed my arm, wondering when the rest of the team was going to join us. After a few minutes, though, he began to stir and all thoughts of anything else disappeared from my mind. Immediately I got to my feet, barely giving him a moment to breathe as he sat up before I threw my arms around him. The tears began to come full force as I held on tight, trying to muffle my weeping.  
  
“I thought you were going to die.” I whispered, pulling away. I looked at him for just a moment before crashing my lips against his, reveling in every second spent in his presence. It was only the sound of footsteps that peeled me away, the team finally making their way over. He nodded to them, his arms retracting from around my back until his fingers grazed across the bandage.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“You needed blood.” I said simply, refusing to step away from his side. He might’ve needed breathing space, it might’ve been considerate to let the others to get close enough to check up on him, but there wasn’t a single atom in my body that had the will to move away. His eyes wandered to the blood bag he was tied up to and he sighed, a thousand _you shouldn't haves_ filling up his silence.  
  
For the rest of the day that we were working the case I became a classic example of the clingy girlfriend. I refused to let him leave the police station—which on doctor’s orders he wasn’t supposed to do much of—without me. My heart just couldn’t handle not knowing he was safe. Even with these setbacks, though, we were able to perfect the profile. With a little help from the guy who’d done the shooting, the unsub was found before he killed again. And as much as Hotch wanted to go out and aid in the arrest, I made him stay behind.  
  
The flight back took us into the night, Spencer and Emily claiming the two couches to get in some sleep. Derek had his headphones in as usual, JJ was on the phone with Will, and Rossi was nodding off in one of the chairs. I sighed, tightening my grip on Hotch’s hand and watching as he continued to fill out paperwork for the case. He looked over at me for a moment before setting the pen down and closing the unfinished report.  
  
“How are _you_ doing?” He asked quietly, turning to face me. I raised an eyebrow, unable to believe the question he’d just asked.  
  
“I wasn’t the one who got shot.” I laughed, curling my feet up on the seat beside me and casting down my eyes. He cast a tentative look around before speaking again.  
  
“But I remember when it was you in the hospital.” He reasoned. I looked up at him. “I know what it’s like to be the one in the waiting room.”  
  
“I just…” I stuttered for a moment. “You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”  
  
For the rest of the flight, and even after it, I barely released his hand. I held onto him as we exited the plane and as we drove to his house. Hand holding was such a greatly underestimated gesture. It deserved to be much more intimate than a kiss or sex or anything like that. When you hold someone’s hand, you feel safe. You feel loved and accepted. You are connected to them in a way that keeps you separate but together at the same time. It was a constant reminder that the other was there, and that you were there for them. It is how you’re reminded that you aren’t alone. In this cold and unforgiving world full of so much bad, you didn’t have to be alone.  
  
When we got inside the house, it was a breath of familiar air. It was a place to call home. The go bags sat side by side on the ground—they would be cleaned up at a later time. We were both tired and ready for sleep, or at least a frail attempt at it. The stairs creaked occasionally as we went up them, the carpet muffling most of the noise. I released his hand rather unwillingly as we separated to get changed. I pulled on what had become the standard—one of his old shirts—before retreating to the bathroom to get cleaned up.  
  
Even after all of the rigorous scrubbing there were still miniscule remnants of blood wedged in the corners of my nails and some stubborn creases. I tried again to wash them off but gave up after a while. I let my hair down out of the pony tail that had been tightened and re-tightened a thousand times over again during the day, ruffling my fingers through it. My fingers brushed against the mark on my neck, and I shook my head at how many times the two of us should have died.  
  
When I went back out into the bedroom Hotch was rolling back the sleeve of his t-shirt, fidgeting with the bandage that now covered his stitches. I shooed his hands away and pulled the sleeve back down, silently scolding him with a single look. He half-smiled at the sight as I turned away, flicking on the lamp before crawling into bed. He switched off the main light before joining me, plunging the room into a muffled glow courtesy of the lamp. I let him get settled before caving and curling up against him, resting my head on his chest and clutching a handful of his shirt. He wound both his arms around me, pressing his lips to my forehead. For a while we just sat there in silence, but the fears that were eating away at me slowly forced themselves out.  
  
“Aaron?” The two-syllables came out barely above a whisper. Sitting up, he mimicked me as I rotated fully to face him properly. My eyes stayed on the white edges of the bandage peeking out of his sleeve as I tried to find the words. “I can’t…I don’t ever not want to be with you.”  
  
“Hey,” He began, moving forward and placing his hands on either side of my face. He waited until I met his eyes before he continued speaking. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“But that’s just it.” I said weakly as his hands lowered to my arms. “There’s always something with this job that puts you in danger and I just…I don’t want to be this secret forever. I don’t want to have to watch myself all the time.”  
  
“I…I know.”  
  
“And I’m not trying to say that I want you to give up or switch your job or anything…I’m saying that maybe I should. We both know we’ll never be able to work at the same place and I want to have a future with you.”  
  
“We’ll think of something. I promise.” I nodded, praying that he was right. He leaned forward and kissed me before we lay back down. I took comfort in the notion that for the moment, things were okay. He was here and he was mine. “Let’s just make it through the week first.”  
  
“I’m sorry for being all clingy today.” I mumbled as he tucked my hair behind my ear. He laughed lightly, asserting that I wasn’t. “Please. Ignoring my insistence that you never left my sight, if pumping you full of my blood isn’t me being an overbearing-girlfriend-making-a-claim, I don’t know what is.”  
  
“Natasha, that was you saving my life not suffocating me. And I hate to say that you’re a little off your game if you read me as not wanting you near me as much as possible.” He reasoned. A stupid smile plastered onto my face despite my attempts to contain it. I pushed myself up, bringing my lips to his.  
  
“I love you.” I said quietly.  
  
“I love you too.” He kissed me again before I reached over and turned off the light. The more I thought about it, the more irritating it was that after every obstacle we’d overcome—usually involving life or death situations—we were prevented from being anything more than an office affair because of our jobs. I made a mental note to bring it up with Emily the next day in hopes of getting some advice. Even if in some parallel universe Hotch wanted to give up his job, I wouldn’t let him. He was much too important to the BAU. I’d find some other job, maybe I’d even get lucky and secure one still within the FBI. I didn’t much mind taking a pay cut.  
  
So long as I was with him.


	36. Proposals

_“There's no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.” – Ella Wheeler Wilcox_

* * *

  
There’s a multitude of signals your body will send when you’re nervous. Most of the actions revolve around trying to appear smaller, or limbs twitching to signify the unrest in your mind. The majority of the shrinking movements, from an anthropological point of view, come from our primitive instincts to appear small and submissive in the face of a threat we can’t challenge.  
  
Section Chief Erin Strauss was a threat I couldn’t challenge in every sense of the term. Despite my best efforts, I was incredibly nervous and it would’ve been obvious to anyone who worked at the BAU. My eyes kept darting to the clock, watching the minute hand inch closer and closer to 4:30. Every few minutes I had to stop my foot from twitching. My throat was dry and I tried to calm myself down, but I knew that I wouldn’t be okay until this was over, and even when it was I still might not be.  
  


* * *

  
“Did you need a fork?” Emily asked, hovering at the side of the table with a wide-eyed look.  
  
“I got one, thanks.” I didn’t wait for her to sit down before I slid my food closer and grabbed a handful of fries. She handed me a straw and I pushed it out of the wrapper before jamming it into the cup. It was always nice when your friend craved junk food at the same time as you.  
  
“Next time we’re getting take-out.” Emily groaned as a kid four tables over began to throw a tantrum.  
  
“Agreed.” I unwrapped the burger and we had a few moments of silence as we savoured the unhealthy but ridiculously satisfying food. My heart was heavy, and I sighed before wiping my mouth and waiting for Emily to finish her bite. She clued in and finished quickly, watching me with raised eyebrows. “So there’s something I need to talk to you about.”  
  
“Is everything alright?” She asked with a worried expression.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine and everything, but…” I sighed heavily, trying to think of how to word things properly. “You know the whole rule regarding relationships in the office and all. Well I’ve kind of taken things into my own hands.”  
  
“What do you mean?” She asked skeptically.  
  
“I kind of…went ahead a requested a meeting with Strauss to discuss things.” I winced at her mortified expression. “I just…Em, I can’t do this top secret thing anymore. Not after what almost happened. I’m just going to tell her, and see how close I can stay to the unit.”  
  
“Oh my god.” She breathed, eyes wide. “What are you going to say?”  
  
“I don’t even know.” I groaned, grabbing some more fries. “I mean, I’m in love with him Emily. And if we ever…you know, move on to something more, I’m not going to let a job title get in the way of that. I don’t care if she tells me to leave the BAU entirely.”  
  
She was quiet for a moment, mulling over all that I’d said. “When are you meeting with her?”  
  
“Thursday afternoon.” I put my head in my hands, groaning. “I just want to get this over with. I can’t stand this anxiety anymore.”  
  
“Well I hope to be the first call when the verdict is in.” She raised an eyebrow at me, taking a sip of her drink. “And whatever it ends up being, you’ll make it through this. You’re tough as nails, Natasha Reid.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“No later than Tuesday, McCall.” Strauss’ door opened and man walked out with a bundle of folders under his arm. He nodded to her and she removed her glasses as he disappeared. She nodded to me, motioning for me to come inside. “Agent Reid.”  
  
“Chief Strauss.” I nodded, summoning the courage to push myself off the chair and follow her into the office. She closed the door behind me and moved around her desk, gesturing for me to sit. I did my best to appear relaxed in the chair, despite the fact that every atom in my body wanted to flee. It was ridiculous; my level of anxiety shouldn’t have been on par with waiting in a hospital to see if Hotch was going to make it.  
  
“You have a matter you wish to discuss?” She asked, opening a folder in front of her and shuffling through a few sheets of paper before settling and looking up at me.  
  
“It’s about Agent Hotchner.” I stammered out, more ready to take on an enemy firing squad than get through this conversation. “You know all about the events of the past few months, and during this time the…nature of our relationship has shifted.”  
  
“And?” She asked, face completely blank as I swallowed hard.  
  
“We’ve become romantically involved and as this goes against policy I’d like to know if there are any other positions I can take in the unit.”  
  
She was quiet for a moment before sitting back in her chair. She pushed on her glasses and picked up the papers in front of her, skimming through them. My heart was hammering against my chest as I waited for some kind of response.  
  
“You do good work, agent.” She said simply. “I don’t believe I ever had a chance to commend you on how quickly you managed to bounce back after the events with Anton Miller. You’ve come very far in your time at the BAU, and I’ve been impressed.”  
  
“Thank you.” I said quietly, unsure of where this was going. She slid the papers towards me, nodding to them.  
  
“Your colleagues took it upon themselves to submit reports to me about you.” She explained, taking off her glasses as  
  
I flipped through the papers. Everyone on the team, except of course for Hotch, had written in-depth accounts of my skills and abilities as an agent, but more specifically how I acted despite my involvement with our boss. Part of me wanted to cry—they were trying to keep me on the team. I made a mental note to scold Emily for getting everyone involved in this later.  
  
“They all seem completely convinced that both you and agent Hotchner have maintained your level of professionalism despite recent complications, and have all requested for you to remain on the team.” She looked at me, eyebrows slightly raised as if amused by the feat. “A few years ago I would have ordered you to move to another unit without a second thought. Now I’m willing to consider leniency. But if this is some silly thing that will be over quickly I assure you there will be serious consequences.”  
  
“In all honest, I have every intention of marrying him.” I said suddenly, catching the both of us off guard. The smallest of smiles crept onto her face but it was quickly vanquished and the blank slate returned.  
  
“What I’m proposing is a sit in. I’ll randomly choose a case to come in on and I’ll judge whether or not I believe that keeping you on the team would be the best choice.” She collected the papers and stacked them back into the folder before filing it away. “That is all.”  
  
“Thank you, Erin.” I said genuinely, getting to my feet and shaking her hand. She nodded and I turned on my heel, trying to control the speed of my walk as I exited her office and got into the elevator to return to our floor. In between floors I released a squeal, completely overwhelmed by the strike of luck.  
  
The doors opened just as I composed myself and I walked out, making a b-line for Emily’s desk. She was sitting with Derek, Spencer, and JJ. I kept my face sullen and sat on the edge of her desk, crossing my arms over my chest. They all fell quiet and I gave a weak smile, eyes watering.  
  
“Was it that bad?” She asked.  
  
“She’s letting me stay.” I broke into a grin and they all cheered, Emily pulling me into a hug. “The only condition is that she wants to sit in on one of our cases to see how we work. Your reports really helped sway her, I can’t thank you guys enough.”  
  
“Don’t mention it, T-Bird.” Derek nudged me and I straightened up, grabbing my jacket off the back of my chair and slipping it on.  
  
“Him and Rossi still aren’t back from the conference, right?” I asked, fixing my hair. They shook their heads and I looked up at the empty offices anyways before turning to Spencer. “They’re airing a marathon of Doctor Who season one tonight, up for some adventures in the TARDIS?”  
  
“I can show you how far I’ve gotten with translating the Gallifreyan alphabet to traditional Latin characters!” He exclaimed, rushing to gather his things before we said goodbye to the others.  
  
Spencer was gushing about his latest achievements in the life of a Doctor Who fan for the entire drive back to my apartment. When we got inside he crashed onto the couch beside me, pulling out a stack of papers covered with different symbols and their corresponding English letters. How he managed to do it was astounding, but so were more than half of the things Spencer Reid did with his life.  
  
He stopped his explanations as the marathon began, and I left him to make some coffee in the kitchen. I pulled out two mugs that were Doctor Who-themed just for kicks, leaning on the counter until the coffee was ready. I handed him the steaming mug and he started spewing out a plethora of “Did-You-Know” facts regarding the series itself. When the commercial break came on he glanced at me out of the side of his eye and quickly looked away.  
  
“So how’ve you been lately, Tash?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the sheets of paper in front of him so he wouldn’t see my unimpressed look. As much as I didn’t like to bring up or talk about things regarding how I was coping after the second wave of “worst month ever,” I knew he was just trying to help.  
  
“Pretty good.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my coffee. “As good as I can be, I guess.”  
  
“Are you still…having nightmares?”  
  
“Occasionally.” I nodded, watching as he sat up and faced me. “They aren’t at all as severe as before, though. I can calm down a lot quicker and they aren’t as vivid.”  
  
“Good.” He smiled. “I’m glad. I know however many times I say it, you won’t actually call me if you need anything, will you?”  
  
“Probably not.” I teased, nudging him. He knew me well enough to know how much of a bother it felt like to actually take people up on the offer of ‘Call me anytime.’ “But I appreciate the sentiment all the same, Spence.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, settling back down with his coffee as the show came back on. I crossed over to my aquarium, pulling the food out from the cabinet beneath it and opening the lid so I could feed the fish. As I closed the cabinet my phone buzzed in my pocket; I checked the caller ID before answering with a smile.  
  
“Hey you. Is the conference over already?”  
  
“Yeah, we didn’t have to stay for the last bit.” He explained. “So I’m a little worried.”  
  
“Worried? Why?”  
  
“I heard you had a meeting with Strauss.”  
  
“Oh, that.” I sighed in relief. This, I could handle. “Yeah, I kind of went ahead and told her…about us.”  
  
He was silent for a moment. “Without talking to me about it?”  
  
“Don’t get all worked up Bossman, everything’s…well, great actually. I told Prentiss about it before and I guess she and the team decided it’d be a good idea to write up reports on how I function well with the team.”  
  
“They did?” He asked with the same surprise that I had as I fiddled with the top of the tank.  
  
“Yeah. And she was…oddly okay with things.” I explained. “She’s going to want to join on a case to see how we work and all but I think it’s a pretty fair deal.”  
  
“Better than I would have expected from her.” He remarked. “Well this is a good transition into what I’ve been wanting to ask you about for a while.”  
  
“What?” My heart was fluttering, a million thoughts running through my head.  
  
“Given what you just said, I think it’s the appropriate time to ask your opinion on whether or not you’d…like to move in?”  
  
My eyes bulged and I bit my lip, trying but failing to contain the smile on my face. It took me a minute to remember that I actually had to speak and not just nod my head, but when I did my voice came out all squeaky.  
  
“I think that’d be great.”  
  
“Good.” He said after a moment. “We can talk about the details later, I’ve got a pile of paperwork waiting for me at home. I’ll talk to you later?”  
  
“Yeah, for sure. Night.”  
  
He told me he loved me and I told him I did too, and even as I put my phone back in my pocket the grin was stupidly plastered on my face. Spence waited till commercial to ask what had made me so happy and I told him the news. My heart was swollen three sizes too big, but it was a pleasant feeling nonetheless. There may be such a thing as too much of a good thing, but this definitely wasn’t it.


	37. Meet the Morgans

_"Worse than telling a lie is spending your whole life staying true to a lie." – Robert Brault_

* * *

  
“Pass the remote.” Derek kicked at my leg and I raised an eyebrow at him. He had sprawled out on his couch, giving me very little room to sit, having slid further and further down as the night had progressed. Technically the remote was closer to me, but it was his place. He could get it himself.  
  
“Didn’t know you were handicapped, Morgan.” I challenged, pulling the blanket up around my neck and settling down. His eyebrows rose and he turned to me.  
  
“Don’t give me that sass, T-Bird.” He scolded, sitting up and grabbing the remote before collapsing back down. “Unless you think Prettyboy can move all your furniture next week.”  
  
It took me a moment to realize he meant Spencer, not Hotch. I called him a jerk and he nudged me again. It was one in the morning when I woke up in my apartment shaking from a particularly nasty rendition of that all-too frequent nightmare. Hotch was watching Jack for the night, Spencer was staying overnight in Richmond for a conference he was guest speaking for. Derek was of course asleep when I called him, but despite my best efforts the shakiness of my voice woke him right up. He’d come all the way to my half-packed apartment, picked me up, and spent the next two hours watching bad infomercials with me and reminiscing of our glory days in Chicago.  
  
“Alright,” he stretched, releasing a monstrous yawn before getting to his feet. “I’m beat. I’m gonna go get my stuff and you’re gonna go get some sleep. First room on the left.”  
  
“Derek I woke you up and basically invited myself over, I’m not taking your bed.” I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest as he defiantly put his hands on his hips.  
  
“Woman, this is my place and those are my rules.” He insisted. “Now get your ass up before I _make_ you. And if you need anything you come get me, alright baby girl?”  
  
He was half way to the hallway and I was half way out of my seat when his phone started buzzing. Turning back, he picked it up and I waited: no one calls at 3 am with good news. Ever.  
  
“Hey, is everything alright?” He asked, voice bereft of any panic. “What’s wrong, is it Ma?”  
  
My heart was working into a panic, a million thoughts running through my head as I clutched the borrowed blanket in my grip. No. She had to be okay. After all that she’d done for me, for her kids, she couldn’t disappear now.  
  
“I’ll catch the next flight.” He said quickly before hanging up. For a moment he just stood there, and then it was like for the moment he’d forgotten all about my being there. He immediately set off towards his room but turned back after a second. “It’s…Something happened to Desiree. She’s hurt. I gotta go.”  
  
“I’m coming with you.” I stammered out, grabbing my jacket off the back of the dining room chair and slipping it on. He didn’t even bother arguing, just disappeared down the hallway to presumably put on some real clothes and get what he would need. While I waited by the door, double checking my purse for everything I would need for a flight, I dialed Hotch’s number.  
  
“Natasha?”  
  
“Hey, I’m so sorry, I know it’s late and all.” Derek returned with a worried expression slowly carving away at his face. I opened the door, stepping into the hallway as he locked up.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Derek silently led the way down the staircase and into the underground parking. “Look, something’s come up and Morgan and I need to go to Chicago. I don’t know how long for, but I’ll call you when we get there.”  
  
“What’s happened?” He asked as Derek unlocked the car. I slid into the passenger’s seat and buckled my seatbelt just in time for him to blitz out of the garage.  
  
“His sister’s in the hospital.” I said quietly. “I’ll call you later, okay?”  
  
“Be safe.”  
  
I slipped the phone back into my purse and risked a glance over at Derek. His eyebrows were furrowed and he kept one hand on the gear shift, tapping ceaselessly. Reaching out, I took his hand in mine. It was all I could do: we didn’t know how badly Desiree was hurt so I didn’t want to promise that she would be okay if she wasn’t going to be. All I could do was let him know that I was there and pray that she’d make it through.  
  


* * *

  
“Oh Natasha, you didn’t have to come all this way.”  
  
“Yes I did, Mama Morgan.” I smiled, taking comfort in her embrace but frowning at the state of her. She was an emotional mess. I let Derek cut in and turned to his other sister. “How’ve you been, Sarah?”  
  
“I’ve been okay.” She smiled weakly. “We miss you ‘round the dinner table. Not the same without our Vegas girl.”  
  
“How is she?” Derek asked, gripping his mother’s hands in his own as Sarah linked her arm with mine.  
  
“Doctors say she’s going to be alright.” Sarah nodded. “She was involved in a back-to-back car accident. She’s hurt, but she’ll live.”  
  
“Alright.” He nodded, taking a deep breath. “Mama why don’t you go home and get some sleep? I got it from here.”  
  
“No, I should stay here with my baby.”  
  
“Fran, you need to rest.” I pushed quietly. “She’ll be here when you come back.”  
  
After a moment she finally gave in and exchanged goodbyes with all of us. I asked Derek if he wanted me to wait outside while he went in but he assured me it would be okay for me to join him. Sarah went to get a coffee and the two of us sat on either side of Desiree’s bed. It was hard, seeing her so beat up. She was the baby of the family; the family that had taken me in even after Derek had gone to Quantico.  
  
“Either my big brother is in the room or somebody else is wearing his nasty-ass cologne.” She smiled, one eye too swollen to open as she looked at him. He smiled back, getting to his feet.  
  
“Well hey there.”  
  
“Tasha, baby.” She mused as I took her hand in mine and kissed it. “So this is what it takes to get you two back here?”  
  
“I missed you, Dee-dee.”  
  
“Where’s mom?” She asked, squirming as she tried to look around the room. I looked up at Derek, leaving all of the talking for him.  
  
“I sent her home to get some rest.” He said before taking on a more serious demeanour. “Desi, what were you thinking? Who were you chasing?”  
  
“I didn’t see the driver. But the passenger…It was _Cindi_.”  
  
“Aunt Yvonne’s Cindi?” Derek asked, heaving out a sigh as she nodded. “Desi, she’s dead.”  
  
“I swear to God, she was as close as you are to me. Closer.”  
  
“Now you gotta listen to me.” He demanded gently, taking her free hand in his. “Sometimes our mind plays tricks on us. We invent things. That’s why witness testimonies—”  
  
“No.” She asserted. “When I got her to look at me, she didn’t just recognize me. She _said_ something. She said ‘I’m sorry’. Now would I invent that?”  
  
“Try and get some sleep, Desiree.” I pressed my lips to her forehead and Derek joined me as we left her, moving into an empty waiting room and staring at each other. “What do you want to do?”  
  
“I don’t know.” He said quietly, eyes stuck on a spot on the wall. “Do I risk telling them I lied on the hope that Des was right? And if she’s not, I don’t know what aunt Yvonne is going to do…”  
  
He’d made a choice when we were working the case in Florida to tell his aunt and the rest of his family that the unsub had murdered Cindi, that her remains had been found. It was a decision that would give the family closure, because they’d been dreading her fate for too long. But if there was even a chance that Desiree was right and actually _did_ see Cindi, there was only one group of people I trusted to bring her home.  
  
“Derek, I think you should call everyone in on this.” I said, resting my hand on his shoulder. “If Desi’s right…”  
  
He nodded, taking a deep breath and making the call as I stood at his side. I could hear the exchange, could see as Derek’s eyes watered as he explained the lie he’d told his family and what was going on. Of course Hotch agreed to take the case, and he promised they’d leave as soon as possible. He hung up the phone and we stood a moment in silence before his head snapped towards the door. Sarah was standing there wide eyed and he sighed heavily before walking out towards her. She was frozen in fear, eyes watering as she stared at him.  
  
“What have you done?” She hissed before walking off.  
  
“Sarah, wait.” I called out, running after her. She tried to shrug me off but I pushed my way into her personal space, pulling her into my arms until she gave up and started to cry. From down the hall I could hear Derek talking to the team on the phone, briefing them on the circumstances of Cindi’s disappearance: how she’d had a persistent stalker in Chicago that the police couldn’t do anything about, how she’d left town on her family’s advice and wasn’t heard from again, and how her stalker had committed suicide two weeks later.  
  
“I need to go.” Sarah said quietly. I was reluctant to let her leave but I knew she needed space and time to come to grips with things. I told her to call if she needed anything before watching her leave. When I went back down the hallway Derek was back in the empty room, only this time with his aunt Yvonne. He must have told her the truth because she slapped him across the face before storming out of the room. I hovered at the door a moment before wandering inside. I waited for him to look up at me before going any closer: I didn’t want to smother him. This was a family matter, and as close as we were I still was just his friend.  
  
“The team should be here soon.” I mumbled, hesitating before wrapping my arms around him. “We’ll figure this out, Derek. I promise you that.”  
  
“Thanks, baby girl.” He muttered, so far gone in his own thoughts.  
  
“You should call Garcia.” I suggested as we pulled away. “She’ll know how to cheer you up.”  
  
He smiled weakly, letting me kiss his cheek before we went back to Desiree’s room. It was only forty minutes before I got the call from Hotch that they were on their way to the local station; the place I used to work. Derek had left earlier, needing some time to himself and knowing I would watch over Desiree while he was gone. She had fallen back asleep but by the time I got the call Sarah had returned. I explained to her that we were reopening the case and she nodded, wishing me luck as I left to meet the others at the station.  
  
Hotch was the first one I saw when I got there, and just seeing him took a weight off of my shoulders. I kissed him quickly before letting him catch me up on what was going on as we headed towards where everyone had set up. A few of the officers had recognized me and came up, asking how I’d been, but I had kept the conversations short: I was much more concerned with our case.  
  
“So she had _two_ stalkers?” Derek asked as we caught up.  
  
“No, only one.” Rossi explained. “Ford fights the profile better than Hitchens.”  
  
Malcolm Ford was the registered buyer of the gun Hitchens, Cindi’s stalker, used to kill himself with. As JJ explained, Ford had a slew of assault and harassment charges from ex-girlfriends. There was also the matter of receipts for black and white camera equipment, the kind that was used to take all the pictures found at the scene of Hitchens’ suicide.  
  
“So this guy killed Hitchens and then set him up?” Derek was staring at the picture of Ford, committing every detail of his face to memory.  
  
“It makes sense, behaviourally.” Emily explained. “If he was stalking your cousin he would have seen Hitchens as competition, so he kills him and plants the photos to throw off your investigation.”  
  
“Hotch I want to bring this guy in and question him personally.”  
  
“Garcia just sent us his address.” Hotch said before pulling him aside. I took a seat at the table, pulling the nearest pile of paperwork towards me and going through it. Derek pulled Spencer, JJ, and a few of the local police to join him on the raid. I wished him luck and they disappeared to suit up. Hotch took a seat beside me and claimed some of the papers for his own. “You don’t want to go with him?”  
  
“I’ve got a feeling Ford isn’t going to be there, and that things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better.” I said quietly, looking up at him. “I don’t want to be there every time it gets worse, because by the time he actually needs me I’ll have nothing left to say, you know?”  
  
He nodded and we were silent as Emily fluttered past us. I was reading the papers but not really reading them, my mind so full of worries and fears. “You were with him when he got the call, right?”  
  
“Yeah, I…” I looked around before lowering my voice. “I had the dream again, and I knew you were with Jack, and Spencer was out of town…”  
  
“You could have called me.” He said with a frown, filling me with guilt. “You could’ve come over.”  
  
“Don’t worry, a week from now you won’t have any choice but to deal with my spontaneous night terrors.” I said sarcastically as Emily joined us. “Have they left?”  
  
“Yeah, they should be there soon.” She explained, looking up at the evidence board. “Poor Morgan.”  
  
The team was gone for no more than thirty minutes, and returned empty handed as I’d anticipated. Derek was looking worse and worse by the minute and Spencer waited until he’d left to recount all that they’d found. The torture devices, the covered tracks, and one piece of paper that hadn’t been properly destroyed by the fireplace.  
  
Derek went to talk to Yvonne as the rest of us gathered the police to deliver the profile. We explained that Cindi Morgan had been held captive for eight years now by Malcolm Ford, a man who frequented her local church. Over the years her Ego had been completely shattered and wiped clean, replaced with severe Stockholm syndrome and something even worse. Ford had made her believe in the Company. A Sado-Masochist roleplay scenario where the dominant male convinces the submissive female that she was a slave and that any attempt at escape or acting in a displeasing way would result in the Company killing them as well as their family.  
  
“The language in the slave contract we found may indicate where Ford is heading.” Rossi explained. I kept glancing towards the hall where Derek was having to explain this all to his aunt. I wanted to go to him and help him through this, but we would never get through this case if I couldn’t get my perspective in check. “It talks of an underground network, so we know there’s a group of people he trusts.”  
  
After the briefing Hotch divided us up into group, each with a specific area to canvas for the whereabouts of Ford. Rossi and I grouped up with Derek and as the night grew deeper we headed out. It was quiet in the car, uncomfortably quiet, but each of us knew why and didn’t bother to press the matter. We were about ten minutes away from our destination when Garcia called Rossi, who put her on speaker.  
  
“I got a 911 call at a grocery store identifying a couple that matches your description. Hotch and the gang are on their way but you guys are closer.” She patched through the last seen location and the model of the car; Derek floored it as Rossi and I drew our weapons. My heart was racing and I prayed with all I had in me that this would be the end. That we would catch them just in time and we could rescue Cindi.  
  
“There he is!” Rossi pointed to the green van in ahead and Derek sped up behind him, sirens blaring. The car slowly pulled over to the sidewalk and Derek stopped the car centimetres from his bumper. He leapt out of the car as Rossi and I followed, the Chicago PD backing us up.  
  
“Get out of the car, and put your hands where I can see them!” Derek bellowed, edging closer to the vehicle. A pair of hands moved out the window and were soon joined by the body of Malcolm Ford.  
  
“Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees.” Rossi commanded, our guns trained in synchronization on Ford as he complied. Derek ran around to the back of the van, wretching open the door. “What do you got, Morgan?”  
  
“Nothing.” He came back around with fury on his face. “It’s empty.”  
  
“Morgan?” Ford asked with a smile. “Agent Derek Morgan. Well, well.”  
  
“Where is she?” Derek demanded as Ford laughed.  
  
“Where is who?” The smile stayed on his face even as Derek pressed the gun to his head and repeated the question. My heart skipped a beat and I took two steps forward, grabbing his hand and trying to pull it away. But he was resisting, battling the urge to blow Ford’s brains out right here in the open. And he would do it, too. I knew that.  
  
“Morgan.” I said quietly, trying to snap him out of it. He ignored me until I turned my back to Ford, facing him completely and blocking the man from his view. “Derek.”  
  
He finally lowered his gun, taking a few steps back as Rossi cuffed Ford and sent him with one of the officers. I stayed as a barrier between the two until Ford was pushed into the back seat of a cruiser and Derek started off towards the car.  
  
“Hey, where are you going?” I called out, running to go in front of him.  
  
“I’m riding back to the station with him.”  
  
“No, you’re staying here and processing the scene.” Rossi ordered, not even flinching as Derek’s anger transferred to him.  
  
“Rossi, come on!” He cried out, watching as the cop got into the driver’s seat.  
  
“No.”  
  
There was a moment of silence, a fraction of time where I thought Derek may try to challenge him, but it passed and he stormed off. Rossi and I exchanged a look and I waited a few minutes before going over to him. He was absolutely fuming and it worried me; never had I seen him so angry in all our time knowing each other.  
  
“Everything will work out.” I promised, trying to block his view of the disappearing police cruiser. He huffed and looked away from me, but I moved closer towards him. “C’mon, don’t bottle it up. Just let me have it. Talk to me.”  
  
“Yeah, like you talked to me all those times you were crying in the break room? Or the entire month you stayed at home just talking to me every day so that I could help you? Yeah, sure.”  
  
I stood wide-eyed at him, almost not believing that he had actually just said those things. My eyes began to water and I walked away from him, taking refuge in the crime scene of a grocery store and wandering into an empty aisle. I knew that he was just snapping because of the stress of everything, I knew that he would apologize because he didn’t mean it, but that knowledge didn’t help erase how I felt. I almost broke down in the middle of the crime scene, and when I knew there were enough other officers to assist Morgan and Rossi I hitched a ride back with some rookie cop.  
  
Back at the station I wandered the familiar halls back to the evidence board. The reason I’d kept my feelings to myself were because if I’d actually gone to someone every time I felt like breaking down or crying they’d all think I needed therapy. If I’d allowed myself to give in to all the things I felt I wouldn’t have been able to leave my apartment at all. There wasn’t anything any of them could do for the most part; and my bottled feelings weren’t putting an entire investigation at risk. The fact that he acted like I didn’t care about him at all just wrapped my heart up with barbed wire, forcing an ache into my chest that resulted in a few tears that I tried to covertly wipe away.  
  
“What’s the matter?” Hotch asked, placing his hand on my lower back and catching me completely off guard. He motioned for me to follow him and he found an empty office to take refuge in. “What happened?”  
  
“It’s nothing, really…” I began, trying to stop feeling sorry for myself when there were more pressing matters at hand. “Derek, he just sort of lost it on me. Said some things.”  
  
I stopped talking entirely and he let me take comfort in his grasp, enveloping me in his arms as I forced myself to regain my composure. We needed to find Cindi. She was alive, and she was somewhere close. We had Ford, we could find her. As I pulled away Hotch held me there for a moment, kissing me before releasing me.  
  
“Ford hasn’t asked for a lawyer yet, which means he’s baiting us.” Hotch explained as we exited the room. “He’s expecting Morgan, so Rossi and I decided to do something to throw him off. We want you and JJ to do the interrogation, are you up for it?”  
  
“Absolutely.” I nodded, prepping myself as we came to the door. JJ raised her eyebrows at me, silently asking if I was ready, and after a short briefing on tactics the guard let us in.  
  
“So I get home and _of course_ he’s still up past his bed time.” JJ sighed as we walked in, completely absorbed in our own conversation as we sat down.  
  
“Reminds me why I’m not married.” I joked, pulling a stray thread off my shirt.  
  
“Well neither am I, technically.” She reasoned and we laughed.  
  
“Do you guys ever…talk about it?”  
  
“Oh please.” She snorted as I played with my hair. “Like I need a man to tell me what to do.”  
  
“Excuse me.” Ford said from his side of the table. I shushed him, holding up my hand as we both glared.  
  
“The adults are talking.” JJ said. “When it’s your turn to speak, I’ll give you permission, okay?”  
  
“So did you end up getting any sleep at all?” I asked as she turned back to me. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head as our conversation slowly dwindled. At last I turned to the case file in my hands, opening it up and flipping through it. “Okay, what are we doing….Right. So, Malcolm, do you want to confess now or just go straight to prison?”  
  
“Look, my wife and I had a disagreement in that store.” He said smugly.  
  
“Wife?” JJ asked. “You’re married?”  
  
“No, this is about John Hitchens.” I explained. “His suicide is looking more like a murder and the gun traces back to you.”  
  
He was completely silent, having been totally thrown off from whatever script he’d made in his head. JJ and I exchanged a look before gathering ourselves and getting up.  
  
“Well he’s not talking. Let’s go meet with the wife.” We headed towards the door, but he stopped us.  
  
“I don’t know who this Hitchens person is, but if you had anything on me you would’ve charged me by now. You’re here because of Cindi.”  
  
“You caught us.” I said, shrugging as we sat back down.  
  
“You know, this is my favourite part.” JJ said, folding her hands on the table. “This is where you hang yourself with your own tongue so _please_ keep talking.”  
  
“What are you doing here?” He hissed at her. “With a baby at home being raised by a man you’re not married to? What are you doing here?”  
  
“It’s work.” She shrugged, face completely blank. “We make it work. Where’s Cindi?”  
  
“I know all about work. Negotiating who does the dishes, fighting over who does the laundry. Except Cindi and I never fight. She knows her role.”  
  
“ _After_ you beat her into signing a contract.” I challenged, staring him straight in the eye.  
  
“What we have is a bond you know nothing about.” He responded, chest puffing up. “But I’ll tell you about it…If you ask permission.”  
  
“C’mon.” I said, getting to my feet and laughing him off as I headed towards the door. After a minute JJ followed and we met with the others outside. A fury was building within me. “Please let us go back in there.”  
  
“No.” Hotch said calmly.  
  
“His guard is down, he thinks he can manipulate me.” JJ reasoned, pleading with Hotch for another chance to ruin this guy.  
  
“We can’t give him what he wants.” He replied. “We need to keep him off balance.”  
  
“Then let me go in.” Derek said, entering the room. We all looked at him expectantly, but I looked away when his eye met mine. “I can get into his head. Look I know I have no right to ask but please, trust me on this. I can break him.”  
  
Hotch nodded and as he went inside JJ and I walked off to get some space between us and Ford. It wasn’t until we were standing away that I realized how much he’d reminded me of Miller. And I realized that what I’d endured for four months, Cindi had endured for eight _years_. It made me suddenly nauseous, and the image of Miller and Ford began to blur in my mind; an indistinguishable line. JJ stayed with me, the both of us feeling the Malcolm after effect. We stayed in the hallway for the duration of the interrogation until Derek stormed out with Hotch.  
  
“I was in control! I wasn’t going to hurt him!”  
  
“Someone has retained a lawyer on his behalf.” Hotch said as a woman turned the corner of the hallway. My heart dropped as I recognized her from the security camera footage of the grocery store. It was Cindi. The beating thing inside my chest squirmed at the sight of Derek’s face as he looked at her.  
  
“Oh my god.” He breathed. “Cindi.”  
  
“Stop!” A man standing before he said. “You are not to speak to her or to Malcolm Ford without me present.”  
  
“What the hell is this?” He challenged, eyes flickering between the man and his cousin.  
  
“You’re holding my client on suspicion of kidnapping. As you can see, the victim is alive and well.”  
  
“Kept against her will.” Hotch offered, but Cindi snapped towards him.  
  
“No. He’s my husband. Now drop the charges.”  
  
“Cindi!” Morgan cried out. “Why are you doing this?”  
  
“Because I love him.” She said simply. Everyone was silent for a moment before Emily asked the both of them to move to a separate room for further questioning. Spencer went with them and JJ and I watched Derek. He swayed on the spot for a moment before gathering his composure and following the rest of us to the main area while Emily and Spencer tried to get something, _anything_ out of her.  
  
After a few minutes Cindi and the lawyer exited, Emily shaking her head slowly. Derek got to his feet, disappearing down a hallway and returning with his aunt as Cindi met Ford at the end of the hall. She embraced him, kissed him, made us all believe she genuinely loved him. JJ and I watched from afar as, at the last minute, Yvonne called out for her. Ford let her talk, heading out to the parking lot. There was a short exchange of words, but even though she looked heartbroken she quickly left the building.  
  
All of us gathered near the evidence board after a few minutes, racking our brains for an explanation of what on earth just happened. Severe Stockholm syndrome? Battered wife syndrome? Genuine love?  
  
“That’s not her.” Derek insisted. “That’s not my cousin.”  
  
“Derek’s right.” I nodded, sitting forward in my chair. “Listen, when you’re taken by someone and they beat you into compliance, that’s all it is: compliance. When you have a family like the Morgans, when your cousin is Derek, the big bad FBI, you wouldn't _ever_ give up. It doesn’t matter how long she’s been with him: she’s learned to adapt, she hasn’t given up. I can promise you all that much.”  
  
“But what could be keeping her?” Emily pressed. “If she knows the company isn’t real, what’s holding her back?”  
  
“Only something important would make her agree to torture…”I began, looking up at Spencer and remembering how I’d felt when I walked into Miller’s hellhouse. “Her family is safe. It can’t be another man, she’s had no chance to meet anyone else…”  
  
“She said she needed to cook dinner for ‘him.’” Derek picked up the tub of instant soup that Cindi had tried to steal from the grocery store, which called us over in the first place. “Would you make this for your husband? JJ, would you make that for Will?”  
  
“No.” She shook her head. “I might for Henry though.”  
  
“Exactly.” Derek said, throwing the soup onto the table. “When I was growing up, this is what Cindi and I ate. This exact brand. Hotch, what did your mom make you for breakfast?”  
  
“Oatmeal and orange juice.”  
  
“And what do you make for Jack?” He challenged.  
  
“Oatmeal and orange juice. The same brand.”  
  
“She might have been making dinner, but it wasn’t for Malcolm Ford.” Derek insisted.  
  
“You think she has a child?” Emily asked.  
  
“But we didn’t profile that, there was no evidence in the house of a child.” Spencer offered.  
  
“Unless he keeps the child from her to keep her in line.” I proposed. “That fits the profile. It’s the only theory that would explain her behaviour.”  
  
“Alright Morgan.” Hotch nodded, sitting back in his chair. “Prove it.”  
  
“Derek,” I reached over, touching his shoulder before I remembered he was supposed to be irritated with me. “The lawyer. How’d she get him so quickly if she’s been kept in line for eight years?”  
  
He nodded, calling Garcia as we all listened in. She worked her magic, as she always did, and found out the lawyer had a mail-order bride from Russia. Exactly the kind of person that could be molded into the perfect servant; that would believe in the company. Of course Ford would have a lawyer on standby who traveled in the same circles as him. And now Derek had the leverage to get the location of the children out of him. It was in all likelihood where Ford was taking Cindi now that she’d sprung him from jail and covered their tracks.  
  
When he came out of the interrogation room it was with an address not twenty minutes away from us. They had a maximum ten minute lead on us, but we were all quick to pile into our cars and start the chase. The address was for a cabin near a lake, but when we got there the only adults inside were a white couple. Emily and I followed Derek inside, stumbling onto a room full of sleeping children.  
  
“How many of them are there?” Emily asked, mortified as the children began to stir. Derek told us to secure them as he went off in search of Ford. They began to ask if it was Christmas, if it was time to see their mommies. “We’re going to take you someplace safe, okay?”  
  
“Officers, we need to get these kids to the station.” I called out to the nearest badge. “Em, we should follow Derek. If he gets into trouble…”  
  
She nodded and then went out back, following the only logical path: into the woods. We could hear Derek calling and followed the sound of his voice. It was pitch black except for our flashlights and dead silent except for his voice; all of my instincts were on high alert.  
  
“Cindi, he’s been fooling you for eight years, the company isn’t real!”  
  
“I know.” She said, holding a gun up. At first I thought it was pointed at Derek, but as he rose I saw it was fixed on Ford’s head. I motioned for Emily to follow me around to corner Ford. As we got to the treeline Ford got to his feet, making a run for it straight at us.  
  
“Malcolm Ford,” Emily began, moving forward with a pair of handcuffs as I kept my gun on him. “You’re under the arrest for kidnapping, child endangerment, and the murder of John Hitchens.”  
  
He was glaring fire at me as these two would-be slave girls forced him up the hill and into a squad car. We got back to the station and I busied myself cleaning up the evidence board, watching the reunion out of the corner of my eye. Cindi’s little boy was beautiful, and seemed to be adjusting well to his new-found family. A small comfort, knowing that the abuse didn’t extend to the children. The Morgan girls were shedding enough tears to fill a reservoir, and the pulled Derek into a great big family hug. My thoughts drifted to Desiree and how she would be out of hospital soon. I made a mental note to visit her before we left Chicago as I packed all the pictures and papers into the appropriate evidence folders and boxes. With a pen I filled out the little form on the lid of the box with the necessary case information.  
  
“There’s my T-Bird.” I turned to find Derek walking up to me, eyes glazed over. He stopped beside me, knocking one finger on the desk for a moment before looking up at me. “About my little outburst…”  
  
“Don’t.” I shook my head. “Go be with your family.”  
  
“Just let me do this, okay?” He pushed, turning me towards him and putting his hands on my shoulder. “I’m sorry. What I said was out of line and even all that anger wasn’t a good excuse.”  
  
“Derek Morgan.” I shook my head, trying to hold back the tears and sighing as they fell anyways. It took me a moment to gather myself and look back up at him. “You’re my best friend. And if, even for a second, I let you believe that I got through _any_ of Ares without your help then I’m seriously lacking in the friend department. You’ve been keeping me sane since you shot down Jeff Colby back in the old days.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” He reiterated, placing his hands on either side of my face before pulling me into a hug.  
  
“Yeah, yeah.” I teased, sighing. “Think about that when you’re stuck with all the heavy stuff next week.”  
  
His laughter reverberated into my chest and as he pulled away his thumbs went up to wipe the tears from my face. After a moment he pressed his lips to my forehead.  
  
“I love you, baby girl.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.” I teased, grabbing one of the boxes and heading towards the cars. He laughed, mocking a hurt heart as he grabbed another and followed after me.  
  
“You are a _cruel_ one, Natasha Reid.”  
  
“Love you too.”


	38. Monster Ball

_"Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain." – Joseph Campbell_

* * *

  
  
“N’Tasha, can you help please?” Jack was kneeling at the top of the stairs, hands clasping the bars on the railing as he looked down at me.  
  
“Did I forget to put out the Spider-Man costume?” I dropped my pen on the table, closing the case file and stretching as I got to my feet. He sat on the top step until I reached him and he got up, winding his hand into mine as he led me into his room. The costume was lying on his bed where I thought I’d put it, and he looked up at me. “What’s the matter?”  
  
“I don’t want to be Spider-Man anymore.” He said as he released my hand, wandering over to the edge of his bed and staring at the costume. “Superheroes don’t wear costumes.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” I asked, crouching down in front of him. He shrugged, looking away from me.  
  
“Daddy doesn’t wear a costume.” He explained, looking up at me again. “I want to be a _real_ superhero for Halloween.”  
  
“Well let’s see what we can do about that.” I smiled, kissing the top of his head before crossing over to his closet. I slid the hangers along until I found what I was looking for: Jack’s mini collection of suits. Part of me hesitated, worried that I would manage to find the one in the collection that he’d worn to his mother’s funeral, but he seemed fine with what I ended up pulling off the hanger.  
  
I left him to get into the suit by himself and went into the bedroom, rummaging through my things until I found where I’d put my badge. By the time I got back he was fumbling with his tie, and I helped him do it up properly hand handed him the badge to keep in his pocket. Anything to help him feel like a real agent. He thanked me and hopped down the stairs, running into the kitchen where Hotch was making dinner. I followed after him, leaning in the doorway and watching the exchange.  
  
“What happened to Spider-Man?” Hotch asked while setting the table. Jack gave his explanation and I watched as a smile grew on Hotch’s face. He beckoned Jack over to him, setting him up on a chair and helping with some last-minute touch ups. “Ready to eat?”  
  
He nodded and the three of us sat down to dinner. Garcia had invited the whole team to a park in the city that was throwing a Halloween festival. It was kid friendly so of course Jack was given the option to go if he wanted. He’d chosen to go trick or treating up and down his street, and then we would meet up at the park with the group. Henry would be there, so he wouldn’t be alone.  
  
The only thing was that Penelope demanded all of us to dress up. She treated Halloween as if it was as holy as Christmas; I knew that it would break her heart if we showed up in plain clothes. The three of us had made the plan to eat dinner, take Jack out for his pre-party candy run, and then change into our costumes before meeting up with everyone at the festival.  
  
When we finished dinner—after Jack had managed to spill ketchup all over his white shirt, changing his costume from FBI agent to wounded FBI agent—Jack got his candy-collecting bag and we headed out. The sun was just dipping below the horizon, remnant oranges and pinks and purples still mixing in the sky until they faded into the darkness of the oncoming night.  
  
There were already a bunch of kids out with their parents in tow; tens of superheroes and witches and princesses and ghosts flocking from house to house. Hotch had left a bowl of candy out on the front steps, trusting the kids just to take a few pieces themselves. Jack met up with a few other kids he knew from the neighbourhood and I was introduced to their parents as we followed after our respective toddlers.  
  
It was the first time that I’d met anyone else on the street, and despite my anxiety about what they would think, everyone seemed to be kind and welcoming. The neighbours on either side of the house had offered to help move me in, but that had been the extent of my welcoming party.  
  
We watched as the kids made it to their first house, waiting anxiously as an elderly woman opened the door and guessed their costumes one by one before giving them all candy. The bags and pillowcases continued to fill up as we moved down the street, the air growing colder as the night darkened. Some people had taken a great deal of time to decorate their houses in the Halloween spirit, turning their front yards into elaborate scenes complete with fake skeletons, tombstones, sound effects, and occasionally even a smoke machine.  
  
On our way down the opposite side of the street there was one house that went through a scaring process that would’ve made me draw my weapon, if I’d brought it. There was a giant pile of leaves at the corner of the lawn that a man was hiding in. There was also a man under one of the cars in the driveway who would grab your ankle as you went by (Superman decided after that he didn’t want any candy) and a scarecrow sitting beside the bowl of candy on the porch with someone inside who would jump out at whoever took candy (Cinderella left the bag of her goodies on the porch when she dashed back to her mother’s side). For those who survived both ordeals they were met with one more as the leaf man chased the kids a few houses further down the sidewalk.  
  
Jack just stayed by his father’s side, gripping his hand as the man came up and then moved on. We finished the rest of the street and with a bag nearly overflowing with candy Jack skipped inside to check out his stash. Hotch let him have two pieces of candy before we went upstairs to change. I hadn’t participated in anything Halloween related since I was a kid (the parties in college posed to much of a trigger-threat with all of the Greek frats and sororities) so it had taken me a long time to decide something to dress up as.  
  
I settled on a gypsy costume with a multi-coloured long skirt and a brown shirt with cut-off shoulders. Wrapping a small purple bandana around my head and a corset under my chest I finished the outfit with a bunch of gold costume jewelry. I was busy pulling on my knee high lace up boots when Hotch came out in his Indiana Jones costume. It was nearly identical to the real thing, with beige pants, a white shirt, a dark leather jacket, the iconic hat, and even the classic satchel hanging at his side.  
  
“Interesting.” I mused, crossing one leg over the other and resting my hands on my knee as I surveyed him.  
  
“What?” He was clearly self-conscious about the outfit, no doubt wishing he could’ve just put on a suit and tie. I got to my feet, running my fingertips along the leather jacket before looking up at him.  
  
“Didn’t know I had an Indi fetish ‘till now.” I teased, a smirk spreading on my face. He laughed, shaking his head.  
  
“Thanks.” He replied sarcastically, placing his hands on my waist and kissing me before we went back downstairs. Jack had, of course, gotten into more than just two candies in the time it took for us to change. Hotch put the candy in a high place and then we set off for the festival.  
  
It was about a thirty minute drive into town to get to the park, but it was impossible to miss it. The entire place had been decorated extravagantly for the holiday, the city event planners clearly not holding anything back. The whole place was like a Halloween themed carnival, with sights to see at every turn and music feeding through numerous speakers. When we finally found a spot to park we headed off to meet at the House of Mirrors where everyone was supposed to rendezvous.  
  
We were the last ones to get there but everyone assured us they hadn’t been waiting long. We took the time to have a good laugh about what everyone had shown up in: JJ had dressed up as Marilyn Monroe in her classic white dress, Will was an Italian mobster, little Henry was a wizard, Garcia was wearing a shiny and glittery Super girl costume while Kevin stood at her side, a slicked up Neo from the Matrix. Emily made an _extremely_ convincing Cleopatra, except for when she was teasing Spencer, who was dressed as the 4th Doctor from Doctor Who. Derek, of course, came as Michael Jackson with the classic red jacket from Thriller, while Rossi took the lazy approach and just threw a cape on over normal clothes.  
  
“You were supposed to dress up, Rossi!” Garcia whined, arm linked with Kevin’s.  
  
“Dracula wanted to blend in, Penelope.” He reasoned with a shrug. “You’re lucky I tried at all.”  
  
There were thousands of people that showed up for the festival, and everywhere we turned there was some new monster or movie star. We decided to begin with the “Guess the Body Part” display, letting the kids go first as they put their hands inside the covered boxes. The room was dark with orange lights casting an eerie glow around the place and a Mummy for a guide. We felt up the would-be horrific things: noodles for brains, peeled grapes for eyeballs, shrimp for ears, and root of fennel for a heart in a jar. The kids got candy for guessing everything right and a pack of stickers as well.  
  
After we cleaned our hands up (Morgan needed to clean his face, given that Emily decided he needed to be more bloody for an authentic zombie thriller look) we moved on to the next attraction: the wheel of misfortune and bobbing for apples. JJ tackled the apples while Rossi went up (at Garcia’s insistence) to spin the wheel. I stayed at Hotch’s side, one hand wrapped in his and the other grasping Jack’s. I laid my head on his shoulder, watching as the wheel slowed.  
  
“Chocolate Russian Roulette!” The zombie pilot announced from the stage. An assistant, dressed as a clown, brought a plate with three pieces of chocolate on it up to Rossi. “Now, what’s your name, sir?”  
  
“David.” He said, unimpressed as the man held the microphone up to him. He eyed the chocolates with one eyebrow raised, clearly second guessing his decision to give in to Garcia’s commands.  
  
“Well David, you’ve landed on a _personal_ favourite of mine. The game goes like this: two of these chocolates are delicious confections filled with the most delightfully smooth mousse in the state. One of them, however, is hiding a chili pepper inside—not nearly as pleasant!”  
  
“ _Merda._ ” He cursed under his breath as the crowd cheered in anticipation. There was a drum roll started up as Rossi debated between the three chocolates, completely ignoring the input from the crowd of which one to take. He settled on the last one, picking it up and smelling up but seeming wholly unconvinced. The drumroll stopped when he lifted it to his mouth, eating the entire thing in one bite. He smiled, giving the thumbs up as he swallowed and received a round of applause from everyone.  
  
He came back down to us, taking an apple from the bundle JJ had won and digging into it. We looked at him with raised eyebrows as we moved on to the next attraction. After half of the apple was gone he explained that he had, of course, gotten the one with the chili in it. How he’d managed such a straight face was beyond me, but he just shook his head as we all laughed at him.  
  
“Haunted house!” Henry cried out, pulling JJ by the hand towards the entrance. The group agreed to go in, Jack pulling Hotch up ahead as I stuck by Spencer’s side. I still hadn’t properly outgrown my fear of enclosed dark spaces, but I knew deep down that if I asked, Hotch would be willing to go down into the basement whenever I needed something. I didn’t want to be that paralyzed by fear of something that could no longer hurt me, but going into a kid-friendly haunted house could count as the first step. At least, that’s what I told myself as I clung to Spencer’s arm, nails digging into the oversized scarf he wore draped around his neck.  
  
It wasn’t the pitch-black dark type of haunted house: it was much more ‘light-everything-in-creepy-colours-so-everyone-can-see-the-creepy-decorations.’ They did a great job, though. There were coffins that opened at random intervals with skeletons or mummies or zombies inside, bugs hung from the ceiling and scuttled across the floor on tracks, and every now and again someone dressed up as some sort of ghoul would pop out around the corner (unfortunately for the one boy who decided to sneak up on Morgan, his neck would probably be bruised from the reflexive head-lock he’d been put in). I jumped every single time, screaming just one octave higher than Spencer much to the amusement of Rossi.  
  
At the exit of the house there was even more to do, including a two foot tall jar of candy that would be awarded to whoever guessed the number of sweets inside (or whoever got the closest). Spencer wandered over, inspecting it for a few minutes with his eyes narrowed as his brain worked some kind of magic before he finally scribbled down a number and slipped it into the submission box. Henry convinced Will to be the guinea pig in the Mummy Wrap (where teams wrapped up a member with toilet paper and whoever finished first won a prize).  
  
We were on our way over when we were interrupted by the annual zombie walk: a fantastic display of a group—at least one thousand strong—decked out in wonderfully executed zombie makeup and attire. They were refreshingly dedicated to the role, limping and groaning like professionals in a zombie film. The festival was their first stop of the night and as they wandered through the park everyone took the opportunity to take pictures and video of the spectacle.  
  
After the Mummy Wrap (JJ and Henry took on Will while Jack and Emily wrapped up Morgan) we were sure to take pictures of the both of them and collect the candy for the kids before they pulled us deeper into the festival. There was a maze set up with the walls made of piled bales of hay, and both the kids were desperate to go inside. The girl at the front handed us a bunch of flags that we could wave in case we got too lost (it was an awfully big maze). She explained to Jack and Henry that we needed to be careful, there was a minotaur that lived inside. Just like the tale of Theseus and Ariadne.  
  
We were separated into groups and sent in at different intervals to avoid pile ups: Hotch, Jack, and me; Will, Henry, and JJ; Penelope, Kevin, and a reluctant Rossi (“Can’t I just wait at the exit?”); and lastly Morgan, Spencer, and Emily. My group went in first, Jack clinging to the both of us as something moved on the other side of the hay bales. There were growls which I was certain were just from hidden speakers somewhere, but they did a great job of creeping me out nonetheless. We hit a dozen dead ends, but finally saw the ending up ahead. From a hidden opening to our right a guy dressed up as a very convincing minotaur came running at us, chasing us the rest of the way out of the maze.  
  
I was laughing about it until I accidentally crashed into someone. He was an attendant, and I could hear him rambling something about nearly escaping the minotaur, but that’s not what I was focused on. He was too familiar, dressed in those Greek clothes with those same eyes and dark hair. My eyes grew wide as I pushed away from him, stumbling backwards.  
  
“You okay, ma’am?” Ares asked, a smile working onto his face. The same kind he sported the first time he took me. He was young again. I kept backing up until I hit the wall of a building, and I fumbled for the gun that wasn’t there. He just kept advancing towards me, trying to trick me into coming with him for help. Where was everyone else? Was I about to get taken again?  
  
“ _Aaron!_ ” The name came out in a desperate scream, my nails scraping against the brick surface as Ares finally stopped. He looked backwards at the man who approached him, and I saw Hotch do a double-take too. He came right up to me, forcing me to look at him instead of my would-be captor.  
  
“It’s just a boy, Natasha.” He said calmly, moving in front of my line of sight so that he was all I could see. “He’s _gone_. He’s not coming back.”  
  
It took me a minute to calm down, pressing my hand over my mouth as I tried to regulate my breathing. Tears were welling in my eyes but he took me into his arms, holding me until I re-established my grip on reality.  
  
“N’Tasha, you don’t have to be scared.” Jack said, tugging at my skirt. “The monster isn’t real! He’s just pretend.”  
  
Hotch pressed his lips to my forehead before I crouched down, thanking Jack and asking what he wanted to do next once the others had made it out. He settled on carving pumpkins (despite the six jack-o-lanterns he already had at home) and began describing what he wanted to make out of them. Hotch kept a firm grip on my hand as we waited for the others, and there was no part of me that doubted if he wasn’t there I would have lost it.  
  
“You look like you saw a ghost, T-Bird.” Morgan remarked as we all met up. I smiled despite the fear still bubbling beneath the surface, shrugging my shoulders as we headed towards the pumpkins.  
  
“Life’s no fun without a good scare.”


	39. Not a Victim

_"Bring the past only if you're going to build from it." - Doménico Cieri Estrada_

* * *

  
I was physically exhausted: we hadn’t had a real day off in over a week. The last Saturday had been claimed by a life-or-death kidnapping in Maine that lasted through till Monday, and we were called out again on Tuesday and once more on Thursday. Even though I wasn’t at work I still didn’t feel like I had much of a day off: there were still boxes I had to unpack and Jack was having his hockey kickoff party the next day. There were things to cook and clean and put away and not very much time to get any of it done.  
  
That wasn’t even taking into account the fact that there was just over a month left until Christmas and I had yet to buy _any_ gifts. I had most of them planned out, it was just a matter of finding the time to go out and pick them up (and finding a place where Aaron wouldn’t find his; although I considered hiding it at Spencer’s). Part of me wanted to throw a Christmas party, because I knew it would be the perfect (and probably only) way to see everyone at the same time. But thinking about all the planning that would take when I already had so much to do was making me nauseous.  
  
I was gathering up all the newspaper adverts that I’d strewn across the living room table when I ended up knocking a bunch of things onto the ground. With a groan I got onto the ground and started to pick everything up, taking care not to spill my half-finished coffee as well. I promised myself that as soon as I was finished the mug I would start everything I had to (I needed to have finished _something_ by the time Hotch got back from the grocery store) but that promise was making me take my sweet time with the beverage.  
  
I picked up the last few things—some pens, magazines, and a few case files—and found my earpiece amidst them. The green light was on which meant I’d accidently turned it on when it fell. Worried that the frequency may have changed, I brought it close and started fiddling with it when the doorbell rang. I got to my feet, slipping it into my ear and continuing to play with it until I got the correct channel. I opened the door, smiled at the men delivering flowers, and stumbled backwards as they clapped a rag over my mouth.  
  


* * *

  
  
The cement was cold beneath me, little bits of dirt and rock pressing marks into my skin. Like they owned it; like all they wanted was to be close to me. Or maybe it was just the remnant drug in my system. My head was throbbing and I knew that should get up, but it was just so comfortable. All I wanted to do was sleep. Why? Because I was tired, of course…hadn’t had a day off in…There’s no cement in the bedroom. Only in the basement—was I in the basement? Did I fall down the stairs? No, too bright. I had to sit up.  
  
With a groan and sloth-like movements I pushed myself until I was sitting upright. Along with the sudden rush of blood to the head, I was consumed by an alarming fear. This giant worn down warehouse was definitely not my home. It took a moment for my eyes to properly adjust to the brightness and I was in the process of pulling at the earpiece when I noticed that I wasn’t alone.  
  
My heart stopped at the sight of them: they were all lying there, mutually unconscious. Garcia, Will, Strauss, that was bad enough; but lying there with their tiny little bodies were Jack and Henry. I was frozen until I fixed my earpiece, knowing that if there was any chance at communication I would need it. I checked myself for anything else they might’ve missed, but they’d left me blank. No cellphone, nothing to use as a weapon except for my training and instincts. I figured my hair must’ve covered the earpiece and I was saying silent prayers as I moved to the person I would be relying on the most.  
  
I gave myself thirty seconds to panic; thirty seconds to lose myself in fear and terror and worry before I came back to the surface and focused. My hand gripped Will’s arm tightly as I shook him, letting him slowly come back to consciousness. Why us? Why were we targeted and brought to this place? There was only one possible desire out of this, and that was money. A _lot_ of money. Will was for JJ, Garcia was for Morgan, Jack was for Hotch, the kids were just shock value, and Strauss, she must’ve been there to make us choose. There would no doubt be negotiations to take place, they’d have to let _some_ people go. And they wanted to make the decision somewhat easy.  
  
“Don’t panic.” I whispered, clapping my hand over Will’s mouth as he realized what had happened. The channel on my earpiece was quiet which meant we couldn’t have been out long: no one knew we were gone yet. Where were our captors? Will didn’t need to ask any questions: he was a cop, I knew he’d have the same thought process and instincts as I did. We woke the others, explaining for them to stay calm.  
  
“N’Tasha?” Jack’s eyes were wide, a panic on his features that nearly brought me to tears. I held him close, promising that everything was going to be alright, before handing him to Garcia to keep safe. Will was clutching Henry against him, cocooning him from the place we were in. He took a deep breath and turned to me.  
  
“What are our options here?” He asked quietly as I scanned the warehouse. There were plenty of windows, but none of them low enough for us to escape through. There was a room off to the right but it seemed to end before the building did. There was a hallway not too far from the room as well, and that was my best bet for where the exit was. Other than that there was a set of cellar doors in the floor about a hundred feet from the hallway. With no machines or furniture to take cover behind, we didn’t have much to work with. I made sure to keep my voice in a whisper.  
  
“Kidnapping with intent of extortion, we’re probably in the middle of nowhere. No phones. I’ve got my earpiece but no one’s tuned in. We wait for them to make the first move and take it from there.”  
  
As the last word left my mouth three men stepped out of the closed off room, each grasping a flashy firearm. Kept in plain sight to intimidate, to prove that they mean business. Immediately I could tell that we were dealing with three completely different types of people. This wasn’t some job pawned off onto three low-levels who wanted to make their way up in whatever organization they were a part of; these guys were hired to get the job done right.  
  
The first man, the one with the frown on his face and bloodlust riddling his body language, he was my main concern. He held himself as if this was fun, as if he knew the day would bring him something worthwhile. He kept his finger on the trigger, the gun bearing hand rising slightly every now and again as he eyed us, lining up his targets in desired order of killing.  
  
The man who followed but stood ahead of him seemed calm, in complete control of his body language and emotions. He looked over each of us with a calculated stare, making logistical and strategic decisions. The way he held himself, the way the others looked to him, this was the leader.  
  
It was the last man I was most interested in, though. He was much less confident, significantly less sure of himself and his place amongst the others than his cohorts. He shied away from the firearm in his grasp, stayed farthest away from us all, and looked at the group of hostages as if getting too close would make him one of us. He was going to be our ticket out of this place; I just had to figure out an angle.  
  
“I’m going to ask ya not to do anything foolish, alrigh’?” He had a heavy Irish accent, and the first thought that came to my head terrified me. Emily had gone through an entire ordeal with notable ex-IRA member Ian Doyle—what if this wasn’t extortion at all, what if this was some sort of payback? “If ya look around, you’ll see I’ve got the place wired with enough C4 to bring the whole building down.”  
  
“What do you want?” Will asked as Garcia covered Jack’s ears. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t catch a glimpse of his face because I knew it would break my concentration. If I let the fear in then we’d never make it out of this. At the question the leader came up to us, crouching in front of me.  
  
“I want you, my dear, to call the supervisor and explain the situation.” He said, handing me a cellphone and nodding for me to dial. My heart was racing but I punched in the number, putting it to my ear and watching as man raised his gun to Strauss. “And please love, play by the rules. You tell him who we’ve taken and that we’ve got an account waiting for a transfer of two-hundred million.”  
  
“Hello?” The thing inside my chest skipped a beat at the sound of his voice and for a moment I forgot that I had a role to play in all of this.  
  
“Hotch, it’s me.” I said quietly, staring the leader in the eyes. “We’ve got a situation.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice completely switching into agent mode. I took a deep breath.  
  
“The following people along with me have been taken hostage by an unknown group: William LaMontagne Jr., Penelope Garcia, Erin Strauss, Henry LaMontange, and Jack. We’re unharmed so far, but there’s a request for a transfer of two-hundred million dollars into an account.”  
  
He was silent for ten seconds, the plans already starting in his mind of what he had to do and who he had to call before he responded. “Put him on the phone.”  
  
“He wants to talk to you.” I said, holding out the phone, but the leader shook his head.  
  
“You just tell him we’ll be calling again in two hours for a status report. They have until six o’clock to make the transfer or we start shooting.”  
  
After a moment I relayed the message, taking my time while trying to think of a way to tell him about the earpiece. It would have to be something only he or the team would understand. “I have to go. But Hotch, before you go please don’t forget to fix the baby’s hearing aid or he’ll be helpless.”  
  
“What the hell was that?” The angrier of the men asked as the leader took back the phone. He came right up to me, pressing the gun to my skull and ignoring Jack’s cries. “Was that some sort of code? Trying to pull one over on us?”  
  
“Mickey, calm down.” The quieter one said from the far wall. This seemed to infuriate Mickey even more, and he crossed to the man and shoved him.  
  
“We don’t use _names_ you bloody _fool_!”  
  
“That’s enough.” The leader said calmly, looking up at me. “What baby? We know you don’t have a child.”  
  
“Not my kid, the baby of a friend I know from this counselling thing…” I stammered out, giving him the small amount of panic he expected from someone in my position. Make him believe. Give him the power—for now. “Hotch was on his way over to watch the baby for an hour—”  
  
“Alright.” He held up his hand for me to stop and went back to his group members. The quiet one let another name slip, Sal. The leader. He was apologizing for what happened but Sal assured him, Dino, that there was no problem. Mickey, Sal, and Dino. Irish. When we got the account number we might be able to do some tracing—except that our best technical analyst was stuck in here with us. But I trusted in the team to at least solve the riddle—at least, I knew Spencer would.  
  
Who was always being teased about being the baby of the team? Spencer was. He would be able to work out that the only reference to a hearing aid that would make any sense in the current context would be an earpiece. He was helpless with no communication, but if he turned his on we could talk. He would get this, I knew he would.  
  
He had to.  
  
I turned to the others, facing my back to the three men and I looked around at their faces. Garcia was still really shaken up about everything, and Strauss was sort of distanced from the whole situation. She wasn’t a field agent; she hadn’t worked the field a day in her life. This was so far out of her element it was practically a different world.  
  
“Alright,” I said quietly, talking barely above a whisper. “Spencer will figure out to turn on his earpiece soon, and we’ll go from there. We are _going_ to make it out of this. Pen, don’t look at me when I talk, just focus on Jack, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” She whispered, holding him close. I turned to Will, looking down at the child in his arms before meeting his eyes. Neither of us were feeling too confident about things.  
  
“N’Tasha?” The small voice came from Garcia’s arms; restricted, afraid. He turned in her grasp to look at me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are we gonna die?”  
  
“Of _course_ not, sweetie.” I said firmly, motioning for him to come over to me. He looked at the men in the distance before making a quick dash to my arms, wrapping his tiny hands into the folds of my shirt and laying his head against my chest. “We’re going to be just fine. You’ve got your hockey party tomorrow, remember? You’re going to see all your team mates and there’ll be cake and chips and those little curly fries that you like. Maybe we can bring some ice cream too, would you like that?”  
  
“Mhm.” He mumbled against me. I looked up at the ceiling, focusing on the defunct industrial style halogen lights so that I wouldn’t cry. I kept my eyelids wide open so the tears would dry out quicker, praying that at the end of the day I was getting this kid back to his father.  
  
“Tasha?” I sighed in relief at the sound of Spencer’s voice in my ear. I lowered my voice to a whisper, giving him a more detailed account of the situation. “Kevin’s running trace on your location, everyone’s on their way in now.”  
  
“I’m going to Morse code you three names, I need you to see if the last three have any relation to the first.”  
  
Using comforting Jack as a rouse, I brought my right hand up to the microphone and began tapping out the four names: Ian Doyle, Mickey, Sal, Dino. He repeated them back to me to confirm that he had them right and then promised me he was going to get us out.  
  
“Let’s just worry about finding where we are first.” I teased, my feeble attempt at making myself feel better about the situation. “Is anyone else going to be on the channel?”  
  
“We’re all here, Natasha.” Emily said softly. I gave one last status update promising everyone that none of us were hurt, before calling for a break before one of the men figured out I wasn’t talking to Jack anymore. They promised to keep me updated, but it was enough just to know they were all there. When the channel went quiet I returned my attention to the people I was with, not the people I was missing.  
  
To pacify Jack (and to give me something to focus on) I began to quietly sing a lullaby, gently rocking him back and forth. I knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep—how could he in a situation like ours—but it calmed him nonetheless. Until Mickey snapped for me to shut up, and Dino spoke up in my defense, and then they started arguing again.  
  
It couldn’t have been longer than forty minutes when Spencer’s voice was in my ear, telling me they were five minutes away. We’d been taken to the outskirts of the old industrial district, off a road that had been closed down years ago. As much as I wanted to tell everyone else, I needed to keep the news of the team’s imminent arrival to myself. They needed to be just as surprised as the trio when the SUVs showed up so they would know it wasn’t us who called them.  
  
It was a good plan, too, because as the gravel started grinding under tires and the sirens began to wail, Mickey was the one to stare each of us down, looking for the culprit. Immediately he came over to us, waving a gun from person to person and demanding to know which one of us did it.  
  
“If you don’t fuckin’ answer me I’m gonna put a bullet in that boy’s head!” He roared, shoving the gun towards Jack. I clutched him closely, turning away while screaming that we’d been stuck here the whole time.  
  
“Oi, back off!” Sal ordered, grabbing hold of Mickey and pulling him away. “You took their phones, didn’t you? You’ve been watching them since they woke up, aye? Maybe it’s this bloody phone you’ve given me. Maybe it’s not so untraceable.”  
  
“The phone is fine!” Mickey hissed, staring Sal down. “Don’t you try to put this on me. This is _your_ fault; _you’re_ the one supposed to be in charge here, mate.”  
  
The sirens stopped and everything outside was silent for a few minutes. Sal was peeking into the side room where I assumed there were eye-level windows, surveying the scene. And then, a familiar voice. Rossi was talking through the megaphone, announcing his name and asking to speak to whoever was in charge so that they could start negotiations. Sal was statuesque, his mind clearly racing as he tried to make the best call. After a few minutes he pulled the phone out of his pocket and came up to me. He told me to get rid of Jack and I handed him off to Garcia, taking the phone and dialing the number as he directed.  
  
“Now you repeat after me, alright?” I nodded, and began to relay everything I was told to Rossi. “This change of events has put a noose on our plans, and it’s going to get tighter and tighter until you agree to give us what we want. You’re about to see that we are not playing around. Two hundred million US. The terms of negotiation are this: have the money ready by three o’clock and your people will be released. Fail to do so and they will all die. Attempt to send anyone in and we will detonate the building and we will all die. Two hundred million. Three o’clock.”  
  
He pulled the phone away from me, slamming it shut and getting to his feet. With a heavy sigh he looked at all of us, shaking his head. I looked over at Will, trying to wordlessly ask if he had any plans, but our exchange was cut off by Sal’s next orders.  
  
“Take one to the front room where they can see and send a serious message.” He walked over to where Dino was in the corner, having a quiet conversation with him as Mickey approached the group. After a quick once-over he nodded to Strauss.  
  
“Let’s go, Granny.” He grabbed Strauss by the arm, causing both Will and I to jump to our feet.  
  
“Not her, take me instead.” I said quickly, looking Mickey in the eyes as Will rambled off about the stupidity of my request, that he should be the one to be chosen. It was like he didn’t even exist in Mickey’s mind.  
  
“Don’t.” Strauss said quietly.  
  
“No time for heroism, lass.” He said dismissively, moving forward with his plan but staring at me when I grabbed hold of Strauss.  
  
“You guys aren’t idiots, you did your research on us.” I reasoned, praying he would take the bait as Will kept talking, getting closer and closer to the man. “I’ve got family out there and I’m sleeping with the guy in charge. They care more about me than they do about her.”  
  
“You’re right.” He said simply, releasing Strauss and grabbing a fistful of my hair. Will nearly leapt at him, fire pouring out of his eyes.  
  
“Yeah I bet that makes you feel like a big strong man, beatin’ a woman at gunpoint, don’t it?” He hissed. “Why don’t you be a man and fight one yourself.”  
  
“Sorry mate,” He shrugged, pulling my head back and speaking against my ear. “But this one looks like a screamer.”  
  
He pushed a gun to my back and released me, motioning towards the front room. I tried to keep calm, reminding myself that I had made it through much, much worse than this. When we got to the doorway he shoved me inside. I could see them all, the whole team and the backup, all standing back a safe distance as tents were being built up around them, technology being set up. I couldn’t look at their faces in the distance, couldn’t bring myself to make out their shapes amongst the crowd.  
  
Wasting no time at all, he sucker punched me so hard it made my head spin. I barely had time to recover, to regain control of my body enough to raise my hand to my bloody lip, before he was generously spawning bruises all over my body. The kicks and punches and knees to the gut; I didn’t know the extent of my injuries but I knew it fucking _hurt_. I had tried so hard not to give him what he wanted, not to cry out or scream, purely for the sake of everyone who was stuck out there listening to me. The worst of it though was the final blow; I don’t know if it was just a breaking point or a particularly hard hit but it tore whatever part of me had been healing since the fiasco with Ares. A scream left me that I couldn’t control, my nails digging into the cement as tears welled in my eyes. He seemed satisfied after this, but didn’t give me a moment to breath before grabbing me by the hair and pulling me up. He smashed me against the glass where everyone could see me, putting the gun to my head and pretending to shoot.  
  
“Run along to your friends now, deary.”  
  
He left the room, knowing there was nothing left in me to threaten him. Well, _almost_ nothing. I leaned against the wall, wincing with every breath. I had to pretend it didn’t hurt to move, had to get back to everyone else and figure out a way out of this. After a few moments I shuffled back to our spot on the ground, putting on a weak smile to calm the anger in Will’s eyes and the tears in Penelope’s. Strauss was staring at me wide-eyed, her own eyes watering.  
  
“Hey, I’m practically a pro at getting my ass kicked.” I shrugged off, trying to sit In the least painful position. “It looks a lot worse than it is.”  
  
“I’m coming in.” Hotch was saying in my ear, causing my heart to flutter into a panic.  
  
“Don’t.” I hissed, catching the others off-guard. “Hotch you can’t. Not now. I’m fine, just—just give us some time to work this out.”  
  
“You’re not fine, you need medical attention.” He argued. I sighed, not being able to deny it but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of me agreeing. He didn’t need another reason to want to come charging in; so I had to give him a reason to stay where it was safe.  
  
“You know,” I began loudly, drawing the attention of the three men as I turned to face them. “You’ve done a great job at showing them all you’re not kidding around when it comes to disposing of us. But you haven’t exactly shown them you’ll be willing to hold up your end of the bargain if they comply.”  
  
“What are you saying?” Sal asked carefully, genuinely listening to what I was proposing.  
  
“I’m saying that the way these things work, the way they always pan out in favour of you guys, is you give them a sign of good faith. If you promise to let us go when the deal is done, you need to let some of us go to prove you’re being honest.”  
  
“Right, so you can run off and play secret agents with your friends, aye?” Mickey challenged, grip tightening on the gun.  
  
“I’m not asking you to let me go, I’m asking you to let the children go.” Sal was silent for a moment before he turned to the other two. They began to discuss the proposition, Mickey and Dino acting like a devil and angel perched on his shoulders. I took the opportunity to turn to Will, lowering my voice. “If this works and we get them out you have to keep your cool. You know they’re just waiting for you to give them an excuse to beat you up so just try to stay calm, alright?”  
  
“You can’t be serious, Sal!” Mickey roared from behind us. Sal raised his hand to silence the man and took a few steps closer to us.  
  
“Send them out.” He nodded. I knew that I was about to push my luck, but I figured he was about as open to negotiations right now as he was ever going to be.  
  
“And Garcia too.” I said, nodding. His eyebrows furrowed at Mickey started going on about how I was playing him. “Playing you? If you did your research half as well as you think you did, you’d know that her condition requires medication every three hours. How good do you think a dead body is going to look to those guys?”  
  
“Dino?” Sal called without facing him. His eyes were fixed on me, watching for the slightest tell of lying.  
  
“I—I don’t know, sir. I just got the addresses, Shane did the details but he’s gone underground and all.”  
  
“Well I’m not going to risk it. Send her out.” Sal sighed, rubbing the back of his head. His carefully planned hostage situation was crumbling before his eyes. He moved his eyes from me, to Will, to Strauss, and back. “If things get any more fucked up you three are going to be suffering a whole lot more than a few bruises.”  
  
“Understood.” I nodded quickly before turning to Penelope. “You need to go, now.”  
  
“I—I don’t want to leave you and—”  
  
“Penelope, you need to get the kids out of here, okay?” I kissed the top of Jack’s head, promising him that he was safe now, before forcing Penelope to get up. Will handed over Henry after saying his goodbyes and we watched as Dino escorted the three of them towards the hallway. This was the flaw in their plan, in their research: they knew us as names and positions and relations. They didn’t know that Garcia was the best tech analyst we had; that if anyone could make a connection as to who these guys were it was her. Sal and Mickey were standing at the entrance to the front room, watching half of their hostages disappear.  
  
“Derek?” I called quietly, facing my back to them and gripping the pained spot in my abdomen.  
  
“I’m here, baby girl.” He was talking the way he did when I’d been in the hospital. His tone was making me feel worse than I already did.  
  
“You need to keep her focused, okay? You guys are working a case. She needs to work her magic.”  
  
“I got you.”  
  
“And Derek?” I added, spitting out the blood in my mouth. “Don’t you dare let anyone come in here.”  
  
“As long as you don’t give me a reason to.”  
  
“We’re practically _giving_ these people away now!” Mickey complained as the three of them met against the back wall. “This is your fault, you well-to-do fucker.”  
  
“How is this my fault?” Dino asked, exhibiting the first bit of confidence I’d seen the entire day. “I wasn’t the one who brought the cops.”  
  
“Well you’re sure actin’ like you’re on their side now, aren’t ya? Sending all their people back like bloody Christmas gifts! I don’t know why they keep you around, mate, you’re a waste of fuckin’ space and you haven’t got the balls for this job.”  
  
“Oi, fuck you, man!” Sal rolled his eyes, leaving the two of them and walking toward the front room. He leaned in the doorway, holding the phone in his hand and thinking. “Just cause I don’t think killin’ people’s the greatest thing in the world doesn’t make me less than you! At least I’ve got the balls to make the right decisions and not think with my fucking trigger.”  
  
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He demanded, eyes wild as he took a step towards Dino. He hesitated a moment before raising the gun. Three things happened so quickly I almost couldn’t tell them apart: Mickey yelled the question again, Dino ducked, and a bullet flew into Sal’s head, painting the wall with his blood.  
  
My heart dropped as Sal’s body did, the other two filling with panic just like we were. Hotch was in my ear asking what had happened, who was shot, if I was there, if I could hear him, but I feared if I said a word Mickey would turn the gun on me. As soon as he snapped out of his daze and began to curse up a storm I quickly and quietly relayed the series of events while trying to make a new plan. It was hard enough before, but the only mediator in this entire situation had just been gunned down by his own man. Mickey was going to take control now, and that was the last thing we wanted.  
  
There was chaos for a few minutes as the two remaining men freaked out about what had just happened. When they calmed down Mickey went over to Sal’s body, rifling through the pockets until he found a small box with a button inside. He pocketed what could only be the detonator, before prying the cell phone out of the dead man’s hand and stomping over to me. He put the bloody phone in my hand and held a gun up to my head.  
  
“Call.” He ordered as he pulled out a sheet of paper with some numbers on it. My fingers wasted no time in calling the familiar number. “Tell him things have changed. They’ve got one hour to get all of the money ready and deposit it into this account before we start killing people. And lass I’m going to start with you.”  
  
He barely let me finish the sentence before he took the phone away. Now I was starting to panic even more. There was no more time to waste; if one more thing set him off then he’d give up entirely and just kill us all. I looked at Dino, trying to figure out what angle I could possibly work on him. He was our only ticket out, that much I knew.  
  
“Will, I’ve got a plan. You need to be ready to run on my word. When you get there you tell everyone to get back in case the place blows.”  
  
“You can tell them your damn self, Tasha.” He dismissed. “You keep that plan to yourself until we find a way for us all to get out.”  
  
“I’m not asking your permission, okay? I’m telling you to be ready.”  
  
“And I’m telling _you_ that you ain’t in no shape to be playing 007 right now!” He hissed. I sighed, closing my eyes and opening them only when I was calm again.  
  
“I need you to get Strauss to safety, her life is more important than mine. If you try and play the hero this will all be for nothing and one of us will end up dead. Think about Henry, think about JJ, they need you.”  
  
“And how am I supposed to look Hotch or Reid in the face if something happens to you?” He challenged, lowering his voice and drawing closer. “I can’t just leave you here. I won’t.”  
  
“Will _please_. You’ll have about thirty seconds.” I turned from him to Erin, nodding to her. “Strauss, can you make it in time?”  
  
“I don’t know if being the hero is the best strategy here, agent.” She reasoned, clearly just as unhappy with this idea was Will was.  
  
“With all due respect ma’am, that man is far too trigger happy to let us out alive, money or not.” I wished the both of them luck before turning around to Dino. Getting to my feet, I winced at the pain and made myself look extra breakable: nonthreatening. I tilted my head down and looked up at him: submissive. “You got a bathroom I could use?”  
  
“Uh…”He paused for a moment, looking over at Mickey before turning back to me. “Hands behind your head, walk slowly to the front room.”  
  
I followed his instructions and entered the bathroom which was just as derelict as the rest of the place. It was covered in dirt and grime and I was certain different animals had called the place home over the years. The mirror was completely covered in dirt, and the whole place smelled foul. I asked him to turn around so I could have some privacy but he refused so I shrugged, going up to the toilet and working at the button on my jeans.  
  
He was watching, too focused on the action of my hands to defend himself as I leapt at him. One punch to the face to disorient him, one knee to the chest to knock the wind out of him. The gun fit into my hand as I held it up to his head, demanding silence as he began to curse.  
  
“I swear if you make a sound I’ll blow your goddamn brains out.” I hissed, taking a moment to get over the pain. “Hotch are you there?”  
  
“What’s going on?”  
  
“I’ve got Dino at gunpoint. I’m going to send out Will and Strauss first, then I’ll use him as a cover so I can get out. I’m sure Mickey’s not going to let that happen so you should put the perimeter back. He’ll much rather blow the place and kill himself in the process than let me escape.”  
  
“Natasha, be _careful_.” He warned, not very pleased with my chosen course of action. At my command Dino lay flat on his stomach with his hands behind his back, and I pressed my foot against his head to keep him down as I took the belt from my waist and tied his hands together. I pulled him up and kept him in front of me, the gun pressing against his head as I slowly led him back to the main room. Mickey immediately raised his gun, filling with rage at the sight before him.  
  
“Make one move and I’ll shoot.” I said stiffly before telling Will to get out.  
  
“She’s got a wire, Mick!” Dino yelled before I hit him hard against the back of the head with the gun. Will and Strauss were on their feet, hovering between my hostage and the exit as Mickey released a yell.  
  
“Motherfucker!” He roared. Without waiting a heartbeat he pulled the trigger, killing Dino on the spot. I jumped back from the body as it slumped to the floor, his blood dripping down my front as I froze. Mickey turned the gun on the others and I shot him in the arm.  
  
“Get out! Now!” I cried, running towards the exit along with them. Mickey was releasing a shower of bullets towards us as he ran after. He tackled me to the floor just before I turned the corner into the hallway, throwing my gun away and keeping me pinned as he continued to shoot at the others. They made it out and he cursed again, refocusing his attention on me as I tried to get out from under him. He was too strong and I was too injured and before I had time to think about anything else to try he was heaving me up by my hair and dragging me to the middle of the room.  
  
He ripped my earpiece out, crushing it under the heel of his boot. Holding a gun at me and taking a few steps back he took out the phone and hit redial. Things were far too messed up at this point for him to waste any time, he just got straight to the point.  
  
“Do you have the money?” Whatever the response was he didn’t seem too happy about it. “Do you have the fucking money or not? You have ten fucking seconds to wire the money before I blow the building!”  
  
He began to count down and I knew there was nothing anyone outside could do for me. Ten seconds was too short for anyone to get inside, and even if they made it he’d blow the entire building up if he saw anyone. But all I could do was think about them all out there, and how there wasn’t a single part of me that wanted to go down without a fight. I just needed to _think_.  
  
Mickey was running high with emotions. He was unstable. He had good reflexes, but could he really be completely focused when he was juggling a bomb threat, extortion, hostage subduing, and bargaining? All I needed was the right moment. Five seconds. I kept all of their names, all of their faces in my mind. Four seconds. Aaron, Spencer, Derek, Emily, Jennifer, Penelope, David, Will, Jack; I had to try for them. Three seconds. He was preparing for the kill, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder as his thumb danced around the cliché red button in his left hand.  
  
When he got to two I charged at him, knocking him over. Everything went flying in different directions: the gun, the detonator, the cellphone he crushed with his foot. We struggled on the ground, each trying desperately to get the upper hand over the other, but he ended up kneeing the spot he knew he’d injured and pushing me off of him. He scrambled for the detonator and I crawled towards the gun, turning to face him just as he pushed the button. My heart was racing and he looked to the right where a small digital clock began to count down from thirty.  
  
He threw the now useless box at me as a distraction as he ran off to the doors in the middle of the floor. I fired off a shot at him but it went wide; I pulled myself up to my feet and ignored how much my body was screaming as I ran after him. He got down into the hidden passage, managing to close one door before I fired off another shot, nearly getting his hand.  
  
Abandoning the other door he ran out of my sight. The timer was ticking; but even if I left the building now I wouldn’t make it far enough away. I trusted my instinct; I trusted _his_ natural desire to live. He knew something about whatever cellar he was running into and with twenty seconds on the clock I followed after him. It led down to a large room and I watched him disappear into the hallway at the far end.  
  
Without hesitating I ran after him, doing everything I could to match his pace. As I turned a final bend I saw light pouring in through the cracks of what could only be an exit door just before the whole place began to shake. I braced myself against the wall, slamming my eyes shut as everything rumbled. Clouds of smoke rushed into the hallway and pieces of the ceiling fell down. At one point I heard Mickey cry out, but I could barely see or breathe well enough to give a damn.  
  
I waited a solid sixty seconds, covering my nose and mouth with the top of my shirt before moving at all. After I composed myself I went in the direction of the exit, stepping over blocks of brick and cement. I found Mickey under a pile of bricks, begrudgingly feeling for a pulse. He was alive, which meant I had to bring him up. Despite how badly I wanted to just beat him senseless, he was our best chance at finding out what the hell this entire fiasco was about.  
  
Leaving the gun behind, I freed his body from the rubble and went up to the cellar doors that led outside. They were partially blocked by debris, so I braced myself on the walls and kicked hard at them until one of them budged. With a deep breath I grabbed hold of Mickey’s arms, heaving him up the stairs and out into the sunlight.  
  
The dust was still settling and I couldn’t see much, but I gathered I was at the front of the building and began to walk. Things began to clear the closer I got until finally I could see distant forms of people. Whether or not they saw me I didn’t know, but they were close enough to hear me if I yelled. Heaving the body a little bit further I stopped, catching my breath.  
  
“He needs a medic!” I yelled, swaying on the spot. Someone was running towards me, but I was losing all strength in my legs. Of course it was Hotchner, and as I finally gave in and collapsed to the ground he was there to catch me. I wrapped my arms around him, shaking as I processed everything that had happened. I tightened my grip as I began to cry. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  
  
He pulled away just enough to kiss me, but the sight of the tears in his eyes only made me feel worse. I stammered out an explanation of what happened as he helped me to my feet, guiding me back to the others as the medics came to tend to Mickey. Spencer was standing at the outskirts of the perimeter, eyes red and cheeks soaked. I took him into my arms, apologizing a thousand times over and thanking God that I’d made it back to him.  
  
“I thought I’d lost you again.” He said, his skinny arms holding me in a death grip. I apologized again, not knowing what else to say until he released me. Derek was shaking his head at me.  
  
“You can’t keep pulling this shit, T-Bird.” He cursed, kissing my forehead as I hugged him. Emily came over to me, smiling despite the tears.  
  
“Natasha you need a medic more than he does.” She scolded. I laughed, nodding my head as JJ came over. She looked absolutely distraught, and she could barely manage any words until she was holding me.  
  
“Thank you.” She said quietly, pulling away. “I can’t…Words can’t explain. I owe you everything.  
  
“You don’t owe me a damn thing, JJ.”  
  
“You ain’t gonna be in this field much longer if you keep making plans like that.” Will teased, gently putting his arms around me. “But thank you. Really.”  
  
“Please stop acting like I just stopped World War Three.” I whined, turning to face Rossi as he tapped my shoulder. He placed his hand on the side of my cheek and smiled.  
  
“I’m glad you’re okay, kid.”  
  
“Natasha,” Penelope began, the sign of her oncoming rambling apparent even as she walked towards me. “I know that you’re going to say you were just doing your job and that no one needs to thank you but I don’t think you fully appreciate the fact that if you hadn’t done everything you did we would _likely_ be suffering some horrible kind of death or possibly even—”  
  
“Penelope, breathe.” I laughed, placing my hands on her shoulders. She took a deep breath and sighed, wrapping her arms around me. She settled for thanking me and promising a big bouquet of flowers every day for the next month. I finally made my way over to the last person waiting for me: a mildly shaken but mostly composed Strauss.  
  
“I’m sorry. I don’t think this is exactly what you had in mind when you said you wanted to observe us in the field.”  
  
“This is why I work behind a desk.” She remarked lightly before taking a more serious tone. “But as far as I’m concerned, you two are fit to work alongside each other. I’ll fill out the paperwork first thing Monday morning.”


	40. Epilogue

_"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart." – Helen Keller_

* * *

  
The notion of feeling safe is a strange one, able to be associated with a variety of things. Safety can be under a blanket or in a parent’s room or in a familiar town. Safety can be a favourite toy or a house of worship or string of words. For me, safety was him. Safety was in his arms.  
  
I could see the ocean from where we stood, waiting for us just beyond the glass doors that led to the backyard. I could see the dock where we’d lounged during the day, the pail I’d used to douse him with water when he’d fallen asleep on the beach, the lumps that had once been a sand castle when the children inside of us came out to play.  
  
Rossi had been kind enough to lend us the key to his summer home for the weekend, and Jack was safe at Jessica’s while the two of us celebrated our second anniversary. The fact that we had gotten the time off work was a miracle in and of itself, everything else was just extra. The wine bottle was standing empty on the dining table: a reminder of the dinner he’d cooked up himself.  
  
It was only a few months after the hostage situation that he’d proposed: and of course, he had to do it in front of the team so they could all see me weeping like a fool before I finally stammered out a yes. It was a spring wedding: the kind I never imagined myself having. Everyone important was there: the whole team, Jack’s brother and mother, Jessica, some other family on his side that I’d never had the chance to meet before, and even Spencer’s mom was able to make it.  
  
His memory was astounding, because the record he’d set up on Rossi’s ancient record player was the very same one we’d first danced to as newlyweds: Ben E. King’s _Stand by Me_. I admired my ring, the gold and silver band with a purple gemstone, as we swayed around in circles. I sighed, laying my head on his shoulder and knowing in my core that this was where I was meant to be. All roads led to this.  
  
When the needle hit the end of the vinyl and returned to its spot, filling the room with silence, we stood there for a minute. We parted a little, still holding each other, and he tucked a stray hair behind my ear. I brought my hands down and began to fiddle with the collar of his shirt.  
  
“Do we _have_ to go back tomorrow?” I complained quietly, cracking a smile as he laughed. “We could just stay here…or we could buy a boat and live on the water. We could be _pirates_ , Aaron. Think of the possibilities!”  
  
“Pirates?” He teased, raising one eyebrow at me. “That’s really the first thing your mind went to?”  
  
“Pirates make their own shift times.” I reasoned, kissing him. “They don’t have to work for their gold, the get fancy weapons—”  
  
“They steal, the murder, and they had pretty poor hygiene.”  
  
“Killjoy.” I moped, wrapping my arms around his neck once more. He smiled, pressing his lips to mine. He looked at me for a moment in silence.  
  
“I love you.” I should have gotten numb to this by now. All of this, all the “honeymoon stage” things that were supposed to disappear after the first 365 days, I was supposed to be used to it by now. Everything pointed to the notion that whatever love we had would slowly begin to die the minute we said “I do,” but it hadn’t happened yet.  
  
“I love you more.” Little things he did still made my heart flutter. He could look at me a certain way and make me feel like I was the only thing he saw in the world. He could hold me and touch me and kiss me like it was the very first time. They were silly things, but they still made me feel like a little school girl with a crush on the popular boy. The difference was that he was mine and I was his, completely.  
  
My hands trailed down his neck to his chest, pausing for a moment before tugging up at the edge of his shirt until he let me peel it off. He worked at the zipper at the back of my dress, letting the fabric fall to the ground as he pulled me backwards to the bedroom.  
  
I pushed him backwards onto the mattress before crawling on top of him, our bare skin brushing as I crashed my lips onto his. I had managed, in the past two years, to pull this off in his office on two separate occasions. Both times had been, of course, on late nights when we were between cases and drowning in nothing but paperwork. He liked to pretend we didn’t, because it was so overwhelmingly against every rule, but I teased him about it all the time. It was nice to know he had a weakness, and that it was me.  
  
His hands gripped my waist as I straddled him, bracing myself on his chest before meeting our hips. He let his hands wander my body before he wrapped an arm around me, sitting up straight and holding me against him. His lips moved up my neck to mine and I gripped his shoulders, resting my forehead against his own. The sound of the waves was rolling in through the open doors that lead to a picturesque vista; the smell of salt finding its way to my nostrils as I took shallow breaths.  
  
I pressed my mouth to his shoulder, trying desperately to muffle the noises escaping me despite the fact there was no one around to hear. Old habits. He turned me around in his grasp and my hands grabbed hold of the footboard, skin tingling as he pressed his chest to my back. I could feel the low moans reverberate against me as he wrapped his hands over mine.  
  
He kissed my neck and shoulder, his legs pressing hard against mine. One hand trailed all the way down my front, sending shockwaves through my body. My muscles tensed up as he laid his head on my shoulder. My nails dug into the varnished wood as I struggled to take in as much air as I was letting out. I cursed under my breath and he paused for a moment, giving me a moment to breathe as I turned, laying my back on the sheets while he ran a hand down my side.  
  
He pressed his lips to mine and I wound my hands behind his neck, desperate to keep him close. He tangled one hand in my hair, muffling my moans with his mouth until my head lolled backwards. With a final cry my body tensed around him and he held me against his chest for a few moments longer. We fell away from each other and after I had a minute to recuperate I rolled over, lying on his chest.  
  
I was perfectly content to just lay there for hours. Maybe I’d drag him to the beach later; maybe we’d light the fireplace; maybe we’d just stay inside and find a movie to watch (if Rossi had anything that wasn’t atrocious). All I knew was that anywhere would be fine, so long as it was with him.  
  
After everything that we’d been through, after all that had happened to the both of us, it was just nice to have a place, have a person to call home. My fingers brushed against the scar on my neck and I wondered if it would ever properly fade away. Despite how long it had been I still had nightmares, still woke up some nights thinking I was locked in that basement with him waiting to burn. But he was there to calm my screams; he was there to help me remember that it was over, that it was all just a bad chapter in my life that I’d already written. It was over. He was gone.  
  
And although going through that, reliving those four months in the basement with Miller was an experience that would change me as much as the first time; it changed me in a different way when I had the team to help me recover.  
  
Have you ever had something in your life and some days you just sit there and wonder how you _ever_ survived without them? What on earth you did before they existed? It’s like having that thing, those people in your life, has changed you so deeply and impacted the way you live so drastically that functioning without them just doesn’t even feel like an option anymore. They complete you, they are a part of you essential to the whole.  
  
All of them, I couldn’t go a day without them. I couldn’t remember how I lived before we’d become a family. It was this fantastic circle of mutual dependence, of unwavering love and friendship. They were the greatest group of people I’d ever met, and I would give my life a thousand times over to keep any one of them safe.  
  
“Is that your phone?” His voice drew me from my thoughts and I groaned, clinging closer to him and refusing to move.  
  
“Just ignore it. Probably just Spencer calling to say he’s killed another one of my fish.”  
  
He laughed at the remark, wrapping his arm tighter around me and kissing the top of my head. I listened as the buzzing continued a few more times and then took solace in the silence. A breeze flew in through the open doors, turning the curtains into flags and chilling my sweat-covered skin. I was considering whether or not to just fall asleep right then and there when my phone buzzed again.  
  
“Give me a break…” I muttered, crawling over Hotch to the bedside table and flipping the phone open. “This better be good.”  
  
“Enjoying the summer house?” Rossi asked, immediately taking the snark I would have used with Spencer out of my voice. I told him how much we were enjoying it and how much I appreciated it but he seemed to have more important things to say. “I’m hate to cut the getaway short—you know I wouldn’t call unless I had to—but we’ve got a case. A big one.”  
  
“Big as in it can wait till morning?” I whined, knowing full well what his answer would be.  
  
“Big as in we’re bringing everyone in as soon as possible.” He said regrettably as I sighed. “Sorry kiddo. We need you guys on the case.”  
  
“Alright. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I said goodbye and threw my phone onto the table, looking over at Hotch. He was propped up on his elbow, looking at me with raised eyebrows. I couldn’t help but smile, knowing we were going to have to savour our last moments in this place before we returned to the harsh reality of our jobs.  
  
“Well?” He asked, one hand reaching out and absently tracing designs on my leg. I crawled forward, bringing his lips to mine before sitting up straight again.  
  
“It looks like vacation is over.”


End file.
